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The  Light  Invisible 


**  She  moves  in  tumult : round  her  lies 
The  silence  of  the  world  of  grace  ; 

The  twilight  of  our  mysteries 

Shines  like  high  noon-day  on  her  face  $ 
Our  piteous  guesses , dim  with  fears , 

She  touches , handles , sees,  and  hears . 

u willing  sacrifice , she  takes 

The  burden  of  our  Fall  within  ; 

Holy  she  stands  ; while  on  her  breaks 
The  lightning  of  the  wrath  of  sin  : 

She  drinks  her  Saviour's  Cup  of  pain , 

And,  one  with  Jesus , thirsts  again T 

The  Contemplative  Soul 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


The  Lord  of  the  World 
By  What  Authority  ? 

The  King’s  Achievement 
The  Queen’s  Tragedy 
Richard  Raynal,  Solitary 
The  Sentimentalists 
A Mirror  of  Shalott 

A Book  of  the  Love  of  Jesus 


Sir  Isaac  Pitman  & Sons,  Ltd. 


The 


Light  Invisible 

By 

Robert  Hugh  Benson 

Author  of 

“The  King’s  Achievement,”  “ By  What  Authority  ?” 
“The  History  of  Richard  Raynal,  Solitary,” 

“ A Book  of  the  Love  of  Jesus,”  etc. 


Boston  college  library 

CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS, 


New  York,  Cincinnati,  Chicago 

BENZIGER  BROTHERS 

PRINTERS  TO  THE  HOLY  APOSTOLIC  SEE 

1910 


Preface 

My  friend \ whose  talk  1 have  reported  in  this  book 
so  far  as  I am  able , would  be  the  first  to  disclaim 
( as  indeed  he  was  always  anxious  to  do)  the  role  of 
an  accredited  teacher , other  than  that  which  his 
sacred  office  conferred  on  him . 

All  that  he  claimed  [and  this  surely  was  within 
his  rights)  was  to  be  at  least  sincere  in  his  percep- 
tions and  expressions  of  spiritual  truth . His  power , 

as  he  was  at  pains  to  tell  me , was  no  more  than 
a particular  development  of  a faculty  common  to  all 
who  possess  a coherent  spiritual  life . To  one  Divine 

Truth  finds  entrance  through  laws  of  nature , to 
another  through  the  medium  of  other  sciences  or  arts ; 
to  my  friend  it  presented  itself  in  directly  sensible 
forms . Had  his  experiences , how  ever , even  seemed 
to  contravene  Divine  Revelation , he  would  have 
rejected  them  with  horror  : entire  submission  to  the 


vm 


Preface 


Divine  Teacher  upon  earthy  as  he  more  than  once 
told  mey  should  normally  precede  the  exercise  of  all 
other  spiritual  faculties . The  deliberate  reversal  of 

this  is  nothing  else  than  Protestantism  in  its  extreme 
form y and  must  ultimately  result  in  the  extinction  o] 
faith . 

For  the  rest , I can  add  nothing  to  his  own  words . 
It  is  of  course  more  than  possible  that  here  and  there 
I have  failed  to  present  his  exact  meaning  ; but  at 
hast  I have  taken  pains  to  submit  the  book  before 
publication  to  the  judgment  of  those  whose  theological 
learning  is  sufficient  to  reassure  me  that  at  least  I 
have  not  so  far  misunderstood  my  friend* s words  and 
tales , as  to  represent  him  as  transgressing  the  explicit 
laws  of  asceticaly  moraly  mystical \ or  dogmatic 
theology . 

To  these  counsellors  I must  express  my  gratitude , 
as  well  as  to  others  who  have  kindly  given  me  the 
encouragement  of  their  sympathy . 


R.  S. 


Contents 


The  Green  Robe 

PACE 

I 

The  Watcher  . 

15 

The  Blood-Eagle 

29 

Over  the  Gateway  . 

49 

Poena  Damni 

65 

Consolatrix  Afflictorum  . 

77 

The  Bridge  over  the  Stream 

95 

In  the  Convent  Chapel  . 

107 

Under  which  King? 

127 

With  Dyed  Garments 

i45 

Unto  Babes  . 4 ♦ 

159 

The  Traveller 

181 

The  Sorrows  of  the  World 

203 

In  the  Morning 

227 

The  Expected  Guest 

241 

The  Green  Robe 


“To  see  a world  in  a grain  of  sand. 

And  a heaven  in  a wild  flower  ; 

Hold  infinity  in  the  palm  of  your  hand, 
And  eternity  in  an  hour.” 

Blah . 


The  Green  Robe 


he  old  priest  was  silent  for  a moment. 


The  song  of  a great  bee  boomed  up 
out  of  the  distance  and  ceased  as  the  white 
bell  of  a flower  beside  me  drooped  sud- 
denly under  his  weight. 

“ I have  not  made  myself  clear,”  said 
the  priest  again.  “Let  me  think  a minute.” 
And  he  leaned  back. 

We  were  sitting  on  a little  red-tiled  plat- 
form in  his  garden,  in  a sheltered  angle  of 
the  wall.  On  one  side  of  us  rose  the  old 
irregular  house,  with  its  latticed  windows, 
and  its  lichened  roofs  culminating  in  a bell- 


4 The  Light  Invisible 

turret;  on  the  other  I looked  across  the 
pleasant  garden  where  great  scarlet  poppies 
hung  like  motionless  flames  in  the  hot 
June  sunshine,  to  the  tall  living  wall  of 
yew,  beyond  which  rose  the  heavy  green 
masses  of  an  elm  in  which  a pigeon 
lamented,  and  above  all  a tender  blue  sky. 
The  priest  was  looking  out  steadily  before 
him  with  great  childlike  eyes  that  shone 
strangely  in  his  thin  face  under  his  white 
hair.  He  was  dressed  in  an  old  cassock 
that  showed  worn  and  green  in  the  high 
lights. 

“ No,”  he  said  presently,  “ it  is  not  faith 
that  I mean ; it  is  only  an  intense  form  of 
the  gift  of  spiritual  perception  that  God 
has  given  me;  which  gift  indeed  is  com- 
mon to  us  all  in  our  measure.  It  is  the 
faculty  by  which  we  verify  for  ourselves 
what  we  have  received  on  authority  and 
hold  by  faith.  Spiritual  life  consists  partly 
in  exercising  this  faculty.  Well,  then, 
this  form  of  that  faculty  God  has  been 
pleased  to  bestow  upon  me,  just  as  He  has 


The  Green  Robe  5 

been  pleased  to  bestow  on  you  a keen 
power  of  seeing  and  enjoying  beauty  where 
others  perhaps  see  none;  this  is  called 
artistic  perception.  It  is  no  sort  of  credit 
to  you  or  to  me,  any  more  than  is  the 
colour  of  our  eyes,  or  a faculty  for  mathe- 
matics, or  an  athletic  body. 

“ Now  in  my  case,  in  which  you  are 
pleased  to  be  interested,  the  perception 
occasionally  is  so  keen  that  the  spiritual 
world  appears  to  me  as  visible  as  what 
we  call  the  natural  world.  In  such 
moments,  although  I generally  know  the 
difference  between  the  spiritual  and  the 
natural,  yet  they  appear  to  me  simulta- 
neously, as  if  on  the  same  plane.  It 
depends  on  my  choice  as  to  which  of  the 
two  I see  the  more  clearly. 

“ Let  me  explain  a little.  It  is  a 
question  of  focus.  A few  minutes  ago 
you  were  staring  at  the  sky,  but  you 
did  not  see  the  sky.  Your  own  thought 
lay  before  you  instead.  Then  I spoke 
to  you,  and  you  started  a little  and 


6 The  Light  Invisible 

looked  at  me ; and  you  saw  me,  and 
your  thought  vanished.  Now  can  you 
understand  me  if  I say  that  these  sudden 
glimpses  that  God  has  granted  me,  were 
as  though  when  you  looked  at  the  sky, 
you  saw  both  the  sky  and  your  thought 
at  once,  on  the  same  plane,  as  I have  said  ? 
Or  think  of  it  in  another  way.  You  know 
the  sheet  of  plate-glass  that  is  across  the 
upper  part  of  the  fireplace  in  my  study. 
Well,  it  depends  on  the  focus  of  your 
eyes,  and  your  intention,  whether  you  see 
the  glass  and  the  fire-plate  behind,  or  the 
room  reflected  in  the  glass.  Now  can  you 
imagine  what  it  would  be  to  see  them  all 
at  once  ? It  is  like  that.”  And  he  made 
an  outward  gesture  with  his  hands. 

“ Well,”  I said,  “ I scarcely  understand. 
But  please  tell  me,  if  you  will,  your  first 
vision  of  that  kind.” 

“ I believe,”  he  began,  “ that  when  I 
was  a child  the  first  clear  vision  came  to 
me,  but  I only  suppose  it  from  my  mother’s 
diary.  I have  not  the  diary  with  me  now, 


The  Green  Robe  7 

but  there  is  an  entry  in  it  describing  how 
I said  I had  seen  a face  look  out  of  a wall 
and  had  run  indoors  from  the  garden;  half 
frightened,  but  not  terrified.  But  I re- 
member nothing  of  it  myself,  and  my 
mother  seems  to  have  thought  it  must 
have  been  a waking  dream;  and  if  it  were 
not  for  what  has  happened  to  me  since 
perhaps  I should  have  thought  it  a dream 
too.  But  now  the  other  explanation  seems 
to  me  more  likely.  But  the  first  clear 
vision  that  I remember  for  myself  was  as 
follows : 

“ When  I was  about  fourteen  years  old  I 
came  home  at  the  end  of  one  July  for  my 
summer  holidays.  The  pony-cart  was  at 
the  stadon  to  meet  me  when  I arrived 
about  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon ; but 
as  there  was  a short  cut  through  the  woods, 
I put  my  luggage  into  the  cart,  and  started 
to  walk  the  mile  and  a half  by  myself. 
The  field  path  presently  plunged  into  a 
pine  wood,  and  I came  over  the  slippery 
needles  under  the  high  arches  of  the  pines 


8 The  Light  Invisible 

with  that  intense  ecstatic  happiness  of 
home-coming  that  some  natures  know  so 
well.  I hope  sometimes  that  the  first 
steps  on  the  other  side  of  death  may  be 
like  that.  The  air  was  full  of  mellow 
sounds  that  seemed  to  emphasise  the  deep 
stillness  of  the  woods,  and  of  mellow  lights 
that  stirred  among  the  shadowed  greenness. 
I know  this  now,  though  I did  not  know 
it  then.  Until  that  day  although  the 
beauty  and  the  colour  and  sound  of  the 
world  certainly  affected  me,  yet  I was  not 
conscious  of  them,  any  more  than  of  the 
air  I breathed,  because  I did  not  then  know 
what  they  meant.  Well,  I went  on  in  this 
glowing  dimness,  noticing  only  the  trees 
that  might  be  climbed,  the  squirrels  and 
moths  that  might  be  caught,  and  the 
sticks  that  might  be  shaped  into  arrows  or 
bows. 

“ I must  tell  you,  too,  something  of  my 
religion  at  that  time.  It  was  the  religion 
of  most  well-taught  boys.  In  the  fore- 
ground, if  I may  put  it  so,  was  morality: 


The  Green  Robe 


9 

1 must  not  do  certain  things;  I must  do 
certain  other  things.  In  the  middle  dis- 
tance was  a perception  of  God.  Let  me 
say  that  I realised  that  I was  present  to 
Him,  but  not  that  He  was  present  to  me. 
Our  Saviour  dwelt  in  this  middle  distance, 
one  whom  I fancied  ordinarily  tender, 
sometimes  stern.  In  the  background  there 
lay  certain  mysteries,  ■ sacramental  and 
otherwise.  These  were  chiefly  the  affairs 
of  grown-up  people.  And  infinitely  far 
away,  like  clouds  piled  upon  the  horizon 
of  a sea,  was  the  invisible  world  of  heaven 
whence  God  looked  at  me,  golden  gates  and 
streets,  now  towering  in  their  exclusiveness, 
now  on  Sunday  evenings  bright  with  a 
light  of  hope,  now  on  wet  mornings  un- 
utterably dreary.  But  all  this  was  unin- 
teresting to  me.  Here  about  me  lay  the 
tangible  enjoyable  world — this  was  reality : 
there  in  a misty  picture  lay  religion, 
claiming,  as  I knew,  my  homage,  but  not 
my  heart.  Well;  so  I walked  through 
these  woods,  a tiny  human  creature,  yet 


io  The  Light  Invisible 

greater,  if  I had  only  known  it,  than  these 
giants  of  ruddy  bodies  and  arms,  and 
garlanded  heads  that  stirred  above  me. 

“ My  path  presently  came  over  a rise  in 
the  ground;  and  on  my  left  lay  a long 
glade,  bordered  by  pines,  fringed  with 
bracken,  but  itself  a folded  carpet  of 
smooth  rabbit-cropped  grass,  with  a quiet 
oblong  pool  in  the  centre,  some  fifty  yards 
below  me. 

“ Now  I cannot  tell  you  how  the  vision 
began ; but  I found  myself,  without  ex- 
periencing any  conscious  shock,  standing 
perfectly  still,  my  lips  dry,  my  eyes  smart- 
ing with  the  intensity  with  which  I had 
been  staring  down  the  glade,  and  one  foot 
aching  with  the  pressure  with  which  I had 
rested  upon  it.  It  must  have  come  upon 
me  and  enthralled  me  so  swiftly  that  my 
brain  had  no  time  to  reflect.  It  was  no 
work,  therefore,  of  the  imagination,  but  a 
clear  and  sudden  vision.  This  is  what  I 
remember  to  have  seen. 

“ I stood  on  the  border  of  a vast 


The  Green  Robe  1 1 

robe ; its  material  was  green.  A great 
fold  of  it  lay  full  in  view,  but  I was 
conscious  that  it  stretched  for  almost 
unlimited  miles.  This  great  green  robe 
blazed  with  embroidery.  There  were 
straight  lines  of  tawny  work  on  either  side 
which  melted  again  into  a darker  green  in 
high  relief.  Right  in  the  centre  lay  a pale 
agate  stitched  delicately  into  the  robe  with 
fine  dark  stitches ; overhead  the  blue  lining 
of  this  silken  robe  arched  out.  I was  con- 
scious that  this  robe  was  vast  beyond  con- 
ception, and  that  I stood  as  it  were  in  a 
fold  of  it,  as  it  lay  stretched  out  on  some 
unseen  floor.  But,  clearer  than  any  other 
thought,  stood  out  in  my  mind  the  certainty 
that  this  robe  had  not  been  flung  down  and 
left,  but  that  it  clothed  a Person.  And 
even  as  this  thought  showed  itself  a ripple 
ran  along  the  high  relief  in  dark  green,  as 
if  the  wearer  of  the  robe  had  just  stirred. 
And  I felt  on  my  face  the  breeze  of  His 
motion.  And  it  was  this  I suppose  that 
brought  me  to  myself. 


12 


The  Light  Invisible 

“ And  then  I looked  again,  and  all  was 
as  it  had  been  the  last  time  I had  passed 
this  way.  There  was  the  glade  and  the 
pool  and  the  pines  and  the  sky  overhead, 
and  the  Presence  was  gone.  I was  a boy 
walking  home  from  the  station,  with  dear 
delights  of  the  pony  and  the  air-gun,  and 
the  wakings  morning  by  morning  in  my 
own  carpeted  bedroom,  before  me. 

“ I tried,  however,  to  see  it  again  as  I had 
seen  it.  No,  it  was  not  in  the  least  like  a 
robe;  and  above  all  where  was  the  Person 
that  wore  it  ? There  was  no  life  about  me, 
except  my  own,  and  the  insect  life  that 
sang  in  the  air,  and  the  quiet  meditative 
life  of  the  growing  things.  But  who  was 
this  Person  I had  suddenly  perceived  ? 
And  then  it  came  upon  me  with  a shock, 
and  yet  I was  incredulous.  It  could  not 
be  the  God  of  sermons  and  long  prayers 
who  demanded  my  presence  Sunday  by 
Sunday  in  His  little  church,  that  God  Who 
watched  me  like  a stern  father.  Why 
religion,  I thought,  told  me  that  all  was 


The  Green  Robe  13 

vanity  and  unreality,  and  that  rabbits  and 
pools  and  glades  were  nothing  compared  to 
Him  who  .sits  on  the  great  white  throne. 

“ I need  not  tell  you  that  I never  spoke  of 
this  at  home.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I had 
stumbled  upon  a scene  that  was  almost 
dreadful,  that  might  be  thought  over  in 
bed,  or  during  an  idle  lonely  morning  in 
the  garden,  but  must  never  be  spoken  of, 
and  I can  scarcely  tell  you  when  the  time 
came  that  I understood  that  there  was  but 
one  God  after  all.” 

The  old  man  stopped  talking.  And  I 
looked  out  again  at  the  garden  without 
answering  him,  and  tried  myself  to  see  how 
the  poppies  were  embroidered  into  a robe, 
and  to  hear  how  the  chatter  of  the  starlings 
was  but  the  rustle  of  its  movement,  the 
clink  of  jewel  against  jewel,  and  the  moan 
of  the  pigeon  the  creaking  of  the  heavy 
silk,  but  I could  not.  The  poppies  flamed 
and  the  birds  talked  and  sobbed,  but  that 
was  all. 


\ 


The  Watcher 


ce  11  faut  d’abord  rendre  l’organe  de 
la  vision  analogue  et  semblable  k 
Tobjet  qu’il  doit  contempler.” 

Maeterlinck 


The  Watcher 


On  the  following  day  we  went  out  soon 
after  breakfast  and  walked  up  and 
down  a grass  path  between  two  yew  hedges ; 
the  dew  was  not  yet  off  the  grass  that  lay 
in  shadow  ; and  thin  patches  of  gossamer 
still  hung  like  torn  cambric  on  the  yew 
shoots  on  either  side.  As  we  passed  for  the 
second  time  up  the  path,  the  old  man  sud- 
denly stooped  and  pushing  aside  a dock-leaf 
at  the  foot  of  the  hedge  lifted  a dead  mouse, 
and  looked  at  it  as  it  lay  stiffly  on  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  and  I saw  that  his  eyes  filled 
slowly  with  the  ready  tears  of  old  age. 


1 8 The  Light  Invisible 

“ He  has  chosen  his  own  resting-place,” 
he  said.  “ Let  him  lie  there.  Why  did  I 
disturb  him  ?” — and  he  laid  him  gently 
down  again ; and  then  gathering  a fragment 
of  wet  earth  he  sprinkled  it  over  the  mouse. 
“ Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,”  he  said, 
“ in  sure  and  certain  hope  ” — and  then  he 
stopped  ; and  straightening  himself  with 
difficulty  walked  on,  and  I followed  him. 

“ You  seemed  interested,”  he  said,  “ in 
my  story  yesterday.  Shall  I tell  you  how 
1 saw  a very  different  sight  when  I was  a 
little  older  ? ” And  when  1 had  told  him  how 
strange  and  attractive  his  story  had  been, 
he  began. 

“ I told  you  how  I found  it  impossible 
to  see  again  what  I had  seen  in  the  glade. 
For  a few  weeks,  perhaps  months,  I tried 
now  and  then  to  force  myself  to  feel  that 
Presence,  or  at  least  to  see  that  robe,  but 
I could  not,  because  it  is  the  gift  of  God, 
and  can  no  more  be  gained  by  effort  than 
ordinary  sight  can  be  won  by  a sightless 
man ; but  I soon  ceased  to  try. 


The  Watcher  19 

“ I reached  eighteen  years  at  last,  that 
terrible  age  when  the  soul  seems  to  have 
dwindled  to  a spark  overlaid  by  a moun- 
tain of  ashes — when  blood  and  fire  and 
death  and  loud  noises  seem  the  only  things 
of  interest,  and  all  tender  things  shrink 
back  and  hide  from  the  dreadful  noonday 
of  manhood.  Some  one  gave  me  one  of 
those  shot-pistols  that  you  may  have  seen, 
and  I loved  the  sense  of  power  that  it  gave 
me,  for  I had  never  had  a gun.  For  a 
week  or  two  in  the  summer  holidays  I was 
content  with  shooting  at  a mark,  or  at  the 
level  surface  of  water,  and  delighted  to  see 
the  cardboard  shattered,  or  the  quiet  pool 
torn  to  shreds  along  its  mirror  where  the 
sky  and  green  lay  sleeping.  Then  that 
ceased  to  interest  me,  and  I longed  to  see  a 
living  thing  suddenly  stop  living  at  my  will. 
Now,”  and  he  held  up  a deprecating  hand, 
“ I think  sport  is  necessary  for  some 
natures.  After  all,  the  killing  of  creatures 
is  necessary  for  man’s  food,  and  sport  as 
you  will  tell  me  is  a survival  of  man’s 


20 


The  Light  Invisible 

delight  in  obtaining  food,  and  it  re- 
quires certain  noble  qualities  of  endurance 
and  skill.  I know  all  that,  and  I know 
further  that  for  some  natures  it  is  a relief 
— an  escape  for  humours  that  will  other- 
wise find  an  evil  vent.  But  I do  know  this 
— that  for  me  it  was  not  necessary. 

“ However,  there  was  every  excuse,  and 
I went  out  in  good  faith  one  summer  even- 
ing intending  to  shoot  some  rabbit  as  he 
ran  to  cover  from  the  open  field.  I walked 
along  the  inside  of  a fence  with  a wood 
above  me  and  on  my  left,  and  the  green 
meadow  on  my  right.  Well,  owing 
probably  to  my  own  lack  of  skill,  though 
I could  hear  the  patter  and  rush  of  the 
rabbits  all  round  me,  and  could  see  them  in 
the  distance  sitting  up  listening  with  cocked 
ears,  as  I stole  along  the  fence,  I could  not 
get  close  enough  to  fire  at  them  with  any 
hope  of  what  I fancied  was  success;  and 
by  the  time  that  I had  arrived  at  the  end 
of  the  wood  I was  in  an  impatient  mood. 

“ I stood  for  a moment  or  two  leaning 


The  Watcher 


21 


on  the  fence  looking  out  of  that  pleasant 
coolness  into  the  open  meadow  beyond  ; 
the  sun  had  at  that  moment  dipped  behind 
the  hill  before  me  and  all  was  in  shadow 
except  where  there  hung  a glory  about  the 
topmost  leaves  of  a beech  that  still  caught 
the  sun.  The  birds  were  beginning  to 
come  in  from  the  fields,  and  were  settling 
one  by  one  in  the  wood  behind  me,  staying 
here  and  there  to  sing  one  last  line  of 
melody.  I could  hear  the  quiet  rush  and 
then  the  sudden  clap  of  a pigeon’s  wings 
as  he  came  home,  and  as  I listened  I heard 
pealing  out  above  all  other  sounds  the  long 
liquid  song  of  a thrush  somewhere  above 
me.  I looked  up  idly  and  tried  to  see  the 
bird,  and  after  a moment  or  two  caught 
sight  of  him  as  the  leaves  of  the  beech 
parted  in  the  breeze,  his  head  lifted  and  his 
whole  body  vibrating  with  the  joy  of  life 
and  music.  As  some  one  has  said,  his  body 
was  one  beating  heart.  The  last  radiance 
of  the  sun  over  the  hill  reached  him  and 
Dathed  him  in  golden  warmth.  Then  the 


22 


The  Light  Invisible 

leaves  closed  again  as  the  breeze  dropped, 
but  still  his  song  rang  out. 

“ Then  there  came  on  me  a blinding 
desire  to  kill  him.  All  the  other  creatures 
had  mocked  me  and  run  home.  Here  at 
least  was  a victim,  and  I would  pour  out 
the  sullen  anger  that  had  been  gathering 
during  my  walk,  and  at  least  demand  this 
one  life  as  a substitute.  Side  by  side  with 
this  I remembered  clearly  that  I had  come 
out  to  kill  for  food:  that  was  my  one 
justification.  Side  by  side  I saw  both  these 
things,  and  I had  no  excuse — no  excuse. 

“ I turned  my  head  every  way  and 
moved  a step  or  two  back  to  catch  sight  of 
him  again,  and,  although,  this  may  sound 
fantastic  and  overwrought,  in  my  whole 
being  was  a struggle  between  light  and 
darkness.  Every  fibre  of  my  life  told  me 
that  the  thrush  had  a right  to  live.  Ah ! 
he  had  earned  it,  if  labour  were  wanting, 
by  this  very  song  that  was  guiding  death 
towards  him,  but  black  sullen  anger  had 
thrown  my  conscience,  and  was  now  strug- 


The  Watcher  , 23 

gling  to  hold  it  down  till  the  shot  had 
been  fired.  Still  I waited  for  the  breeze, 
and  then  it  came,  cool  and  sweet-smelling 
like  the  breath  of  a garden,  and  the  leaves 
parted.  There  he  sang  in  the  sunshine, 
and  in  a moment  1 lifted  the  pistol  and 
drew  the  trigger. 

“ With  the  crack  of  the  cap  came  silence 
overhead,  and  after  what  seemed  an  inter- 
minable moment  came  the  soft  rush  of 
something  falling  and  the  faint  thud  among 
last  year’s  leaves.  Then  I stood  half  terri- 
fied, and  stared  among  the  dead  leaves. 
All  seemed  dim  and  misty.  My  eyes  were 
still  a little  dazzled  by  the  bright  background 
of  sunlit  air  and  rosy  clouds  on  which  I 
had  looked  with  such  intensity,  and  the 
space  beneath  the  branches  was  a world  of 
shadows.  Still  I looked  a few  yards  away, 
trying  to  make  out  the  body  of  the  thrush, 
and  fearing  to  hear  a struggle  of  beating 
wings  among  the  dry  leaves. 

“And  thenl  lifted  myeyesalittle, vaguely. 
A yard  or  two  beyond  where  the  thrush  lay 


24  The  Light  Invisible 

was  a rhododendron  bush.  The  blossoms 
had  fallen  and  the  outline  of  dark,  heavy 
leaves  was  unrelieved  by  the  slightest 
touch  of  colour.  As  I looked  at  it,  I 
saw  a face  looking  down  from  the  higher 
branches. 

“ It  was  a perfectly  hairless  head  and  face, 
the  thin  lips  were  parted  in  a wide  smile  of 
laughter,  there  were  innumerable  lines  about 
the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  the  eyes 
were  surrounded  by  creases  of  merriment. 
What  was  perhaps  most  terrible  about  it 
all  was  that-  the  eyes  were  not  looking  at 
me,  but  down  among  the  leaves ; the  heavy 
eyelids  lay  drooping,  and  the  long,  narrow, 
shining  slits  showed  how  the  eyes  laughed 
beneath  them.  The  forehead  sloped  quickly 
back,  like  a cat’s  head.  The  face  was  the 
colour  of  earth,  and  the  outlines  of  the 
head  faded  below  the  ears  and  chin  into  the 
gloom  of  the  dark  bush  There  was  no 
throat,  or  body  or  limbs  so  far  as  I could 
see.  The  face  just  hung  there  like  a down- 
turned  Eastern  mask  in  an  old  curiosity 


The  Watcher 


2S 

shop.  And  it  smiled  with  sheer  delight, 
not  at  me,  but  at  the  thrush’s  body.  There 
was  no  change  of  expression  so  long  as  I 
watched  it,  just  a silent  smile  of  pleasure 
petrified  on  the  face.  I could  not  move 
my  eyes  from  it. 

“ After  what  I suppose  was  a minute  or 
so,  the  face  had  gone.  I did  not  see  it  go, 
but  I became  aware  that  I was  looking  only 
at  leaves. 

“ No;  there  was  no  outline  of  leaf,  or  play 
of  shadows  that  could  possibly  have  taken 
the  form  of  a face.  You  can  guess  how  I 
tried  to  force  myself  to  believe  that  that 
was  all;  how  I turned  my  head  this  way 
and  that  to  catch  it  again;  but  there  was 
no  hint  of  a face. 

“ Now,  I cannot  tell  you  how  I did  it; 
but  although  I was  half  beside  myself  with 
fright,  I went  forward  towards  the  bush 
and  searched  furiously  among  the  leaves 
for  the  body  of  the  thrush;  and  at  last  I 
found  it,  and  lifted  it.  It  was  still  limp  and 
warm  to  the  touch.  Its  breast  was  a little 


26  The  Light  Invisible 

ruffled,  and  one  tiny  drop  of  blood  lay  at 
the  root  of  the  beak  below  the  eyes,  like  a 
tear  of  dismay  and  sorrow  at  such  an  un- 
merited, unexpected  death. 

“ I carried  it  to  the  fence  and  climbed 
over,  and  then  began  to  run  in  great  steps, 
looking  now  and  then  awfully  at  the  gather- 
ing gloom  of  the  wood  behind,  where  the 
laughing  face  had  mocked  the  dead.  I 
think,  looking  back  as  I do  now,  that  my 
chief  instinct  was  that  I could  not  leave  the 
thrush  there  to  be  laughed  at,  and  that  I 
must  get  it  out  into  the  clean,  airy  meadow. 
When  I reached  the  middle  of  the  meadow 
I came  to  a pond  which  never  ran  quite  dry 
even  in  the  hottest  summer.  On  the  bank 
I laid  the  thrush  down,  and  then  deliber- 
ately but  with  all  my  force  dashed  the 
pistol  into  the  water  ; then  emptied  my 
pockets  of  the  cartridges  and  threw  them 
in  too. 

“ Then  I turned  again  to  the  piteous  little 
body,  feeling  that  at  least  I had  tried  to 
make  amends.  There  was  an  old  rabbit 


The  Watcher  27 

hole  near,  the  grass  growing  down  in  its 
mouth,  and  a tangle  of  web  and  dead  leaves 
behind.  I scooped  a little  space  out 
among  the  leaves,  and  then  laid  the  thrush 
there;  gathered  a little  of  the  sandy  soil 
and  poured  it  over  the  body,  saying,  I re- 
member, halt  unconsciously,  ‘ Earth  to 
earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  in  sure  and  certain 
hope  ’ — and  then  I stopped,  feeling  I had 
been  a little  profane,  though  I do  not  think 
so  now.  And  then  I went  home. 

“As  I dressed  for  dinner, looking  out  over 
the  darkening  meadow  where  the  thrush 
lay,  I remember  feeling  happy  that  no  evil 
thing  could  mock  the  defenceless  dead  out 
there  in  the  clean  meadow  where  the  wind 
blew  and  the  stars  shone  down.” 

We  reached  in  our  going  to  and  fro  up 
the  yew  path  a little  seat  at  the  end  stand- 
ing back  from  the  path.  Opposite  us  hung 
a crucifix,  with  a pent-house  over  it,  that 
the  old  man  had  put  up  years  before.  As 
he  did  not  speak  I turned  to  him,  and  saw 
that  he  was  looking  steadily  at  the  Figure 


25 


The  Light  Invisible 

on  the  Cross;  and  I thought  how  He  who 
bore  our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows 
was  one  with  the  heavenly  Father,  without 
whom  not  even  a sparrow  falls  to  the 
ground. 


The  Blood-Eag] 


u And  this  1 know  : whether  the  one  True  Light 
Kindle  to  Love  or  Wrath — consume  me  quite, 
One  glimpse  of  It  within  the  Tavern  caught 
Better  than  in  the  Temple  lost  outright.” 

Omar  Khayyam. 


The  Blood-Eagle 


One  night  when  I went  to  my  room  I 
found  in  a little  shelf  near  the 
window  a book,  whose  title  I now  forget, 
describing  the  far-off  days  when  the  re- 
ligion of  Christ  and  of  the  gods  of  the 
north  strove  together  in  England.  I read 
this  for  an  hour  or  two  before  I went  to 
sleep,  and  again  as  I was  dressing  on  the 
following  morning,  and  spoke  of  it  at 
breakfast. 

“Yes,”  said  the  old  man,  “that  was  one 
of  my  father’s  books.  I remember  reading 
it  when  I was  a boy.  I believe  it  is  said  to 


32  The  Light  Invisible 

be  very  ill-informed  and  unscientific  in  these 
days.  My  parents  used  to  think  that  all 
religions  except  Christianity  were  of  the 
devil.  But  I think  St.  Paul  teaches  us  a 
larger  hope  than  that.” 

He  said  nothing  more  at  the  time;  but 
in  the  course  of  the  morning,  as  I was 
walking  up  and  down  the  raised  terrace  that 
runs  under  the  pines  beside  the  drive,  I 
saw  the  priest  coming  towards  me  with  a 
book  in  his  hand.  He  was  a little  dusty 
and  flushed. 

“ I went  to  look  for  something  that  I 
thought  might  interest  you,  after  what  you 
said  at  breakfast,”  he  began,  “ and  I have 
found  it  at  last  in  the  loft.” 

We  began  to  walk  together  up  and  down. 

“A  very  curious  thing  happened  tome,” 
he  said,  “ when  I was  a boy.  I remember 
telling  my  father  of  it  when  I came  home, 
and  it  remained  in  my  mind.  A few  years 
afterwards  an  old  professor  was  staying 
with  us ; and  after  dinner  one  night,  when 
we  had  been  talking  about  what  you  were 


The  Blood-Eagle  33 

speaking  of  at  breakfast,  my  father  made 
me  tell  it  again,  and  when  I had  finished 
the  professor  asked  me  to  write  it  down 
for  him.  So  I wrote  it  in  this  book  first  ; 
and  then  made  a copy  and  sent  it  to  him. 
The  book  itself  is  a kind  of  irregular  diary 
in  which  I used  to  write  sometimes.  Would 
you  care  to  hear  it  ? ” 

When  I had  told  him  I should  like  to 
hear  the  story,  he  began  again. 

“ I must  first  tell  you  the  circumstances. 
I was  about  sixteen  years  old.  My  parents 
had  gone  abroad  for  the  holidays,  and  I 
went  to  stay  with  a school  friend  of  mine  at 
his  home  not  far  from  Ascot.  We  used 
to  take  our  lunch  with  us  sometimes  on 
bright  days — for  it  was  at  Christmas  time — 
and  go  ofF  for  the  day  over  the  heather. 
You  must  remember  that  I was  only  a 
schoolboy  at  the  time,  so  I daresay  I 
exaggerated  or  elaborated  some  of  the 
details  a little,  but  the  main  facts  of  the 
story  you  can  rely  upon.  Shall  we  sit 
down  while  I read  it  ? ” 


c 


34  The  Light  Invisible 

Then  when  we  had  seated  ourselves  on  a 
bench  that  stood  at  the  end  of  the  terrace, 
with  the  old  house  basking  before  us  in  the 
hot  sunshine,  he  began  to  read. 

“ About  six  o’clock  in  the  evening  of 
one  of  the  days  towards  the  end  of  January, 
Jack  and  I were  still  wandering  on  high, 
heathy  ground  near  Ascot.  We  had  walked 
all  day  and  had  lost  ourselves;  but  we  kept 
going  in  as  straight  a line  as  we  could, 
knowing  that  in  time  we  should  strike 
across  a road.  We  were  rather  tired  and 
silent;  but  suddenly  Jack  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation, and  then  pointed  out  a light 
across  the  heath.  We  stood  a moment  to 
see  if  it  moved,  but  it  remained  still. 

“ ‘ What  is  it  ? * I asked.  ‘ There  can 
be  no  house  near  here.’ 

“ ‘ It’s  a broomsquire’s  cottage,  I expect,’ 
said  Jack. 

“ I asked  what  that  meant. 

“ ‘ Oh  ! I don’t  know  exactly,’  said  Jack; 
‘.they’re  a kind  of  gipsies.’ 

“We  stumbled  on  across  the  heather, 


The  Blood-Eagle  35 

while  the  light  grew  steadily  nearer.  The 
moon  was  beginning  to  rise,  and  it  was  a 
clear  night,  one  of  those  windless,  frosty 
nights  that  sometimes  come  after  a wet 
autumn.  Jack  plunged  at  one  place  into  a 
hidden  ditch,  and  I heard  the  crackling  of 
ice  as  he  scrambled  out. 

“ ‘ Skating  to-morrow,  by  Jove,’  he  said. 

“ As  we  got  closer  I began  to  see  that 
we  were  approaching  a copse  of  firs;  the 
heather  began  to  get  shorter.  Then,  as  I 
looked  at  the  light,  I saw  there  was  a fixed 
outline  of  a kind  of  house  out  of  which  it 
shone.  The  window  apparently  was  an 
irregular  shape,  and  the  house  seemed  to 
be  leaning  against  a tall  fir  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  copse.  As  we  got  quite  close,  our 
feet  noiseless  on  the  soft  heather,  I saw  that 
the  house  was  built  altogether  round  the 
fir,  which  served  as  a kind  of  central  prop. 
The  house  was  made  of  wattled  boughs, 
and  thatched  heavily  with  heather. 

“ I felt  more  and  more  anxious  about  it, 
for  I had  never  heard  of  ‘ broomsquires,’ 


36  The  Light  Invisible 

and  also,  I confess,  a little  timid;  for  the 
place  was  lonely,  and  we  were  only  two 
boys.  I was  leading  now,  and  presently 
reached  the  window  and  looked  in. 

“The  walls  inside  were  hung  with  blankets 
and  clothes  to  keep  the  wind  out;  there 
was  a long  old  settle  in  one  corner,  the  floor 
was  carpeted  with  branches  and  blankets 
apparently,  and  there  was  an  opening  oppo- 
site, partly  closed  by  a wattled  hurdle  that 
leaned  against  it.  Half  sitting  and  half 
lying  on  the  settle,  was  an  old  woman  with 
her  face  hidden.  An  oil-lamp  hung  from 
one  of  the  branches  of  the  fir  that  helped  to 
form  the  roof.  There  was  no  sign  of  any 
other  living  thing  in  the  place.  As  I looked 
Jack  came  up  behind  and  spoke  over  my 
shoulder. 

“ ‘ Can  you  tell  us  the  way  to  the  nearest 
high-road?’  he  asked. 

“ The  old  woman  sat  up  suddenly,  with  a 
look  of  fright  on  her  face.  She  was  extra- 
ordinarily dirty  and  ill-kempt.  I could 
see  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  that  she 


The  Blood-Eagle  37 

had  a wrinkled  old  face,  with  sunken  dark 
eyes,  white  eyebrows,  and  white  hair;  and 
her  mouth  began  to  mumble  as  she  looked 
at  us.  Presently  she  made  a violent  gesture 
to  wave  us  from  the  window. 

“ Jack  repeated  the  question,  and  the  old 
woman  got  up  and  hobbled  quietly  and 
crookedly  to  the  door,  and  in  a moment 
she  had  come  round  close  to  us.  I then 
saw  how  very  small  she  was.  She  could 
not  have  been  five  feet  tall,  and  was 
very  much  bent.  I must  say  again  that 
I felt  very  uneasy  and  startled  with  this 
terrifying  old  creature  close  to  me  and 
peering  up  into  my  face.  She  took  me  by 
the  coat  and  with  her  other  hand  beckoned 
quickly  away  in  every  direction.  She  seemed 
to  be  warning  us  away  from  the  copse,  but 
still  she  said  nothing. 

“ Jack  grew  impatient. 

“ ‘ Deaf  old  fool ! ’ he  said  in  an  under- 
tone, and  then  loudly  and  slowly,  ‘ Can 
you  tell  us  the  way  to  the  nearest  high- 
road ? ’ 


38  The  Light  Invisible 

“Then  she  seemed  to  understand,  and 
pointed  vigorously  in  the  direction  from 
which  we  had  come. 

“‘Oh!  nonsense,’  said  Jack,  ‘we’ve 
come  from  there.  Come  on  this  way,’ 
he  said,  ‘ we  can’t  spend  all  night  here.’ 
And  then  he  turned  the  side  of  the  little 
house  and  disappeared  into  the  copse. 

“ The  old  woman  dropped  my  coat  in  a 
moment,  and  began  to  run  after  Jack,  and 
I went  round  the  other  side  of  the  house 
and  saw  Jack  moving  in  front,  for  the  firs 
were  sparse  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and 
the  moonlight  filtered  through  them.  The 
old  woman,  I saw  as  I turned  into  the  wood, 
had  stopped,  knowing  she  could  not  catch 
us,  and  was  standing  with  her  hands 
stretched  out,  and  a curious  sound,  half  cry 
and  half  sob  came  from  her.  I was  a little 
uneasy,  because  we  had  not  treated  her  with 
courtesy,  and  stopped,  but  at  that  moment 
Jack  called. 

“ ‘ Come  on,’  he  said,  ‘ we’re  sure  to  find 
a road  at  the  end  of  this.’ 


39 


The  Blood-Eagle 

“ So  I went  on. 

“ Once  I turned  and  saw  the  little  old 
woman  standing  as  before;  and  as  I looked 
between  the  trees  she  lifted  one  hand  to  her 
mouth  and  sent  a curious  whistling  cry  after 
us,  that  somehow  frightened  me.  It  seemed 
too  loud  for  one  so  small. 

“ As  we  went  on  the  wood  grew  darker. 
Here  and  there  in  an  open  patch  there  lay 
a white  splash  of  moonlight  on  the  fir 
needles,  and  great  dim  spaces  lay  round  us. 
Although  the  wood  stood  on  high  ground, 
the  trees  grew  so  thickly  about  us  that  we 
could  see  nothing  of  the  country  round. 
Now  and  then  we  tripped  on  a root,  or  else 
caught  in  a bramble,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  we  were  following  a narrow  path  that 
led  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  heart  of 
the  wood.  Suddenly  Jack  stopped  and 
lifted  his  hand. 

“ ‘ Hush ! ’ he  said. 

“ I stopped  too,  and  we  listened  breath- 
lessly. Then  in  a moment  more, 

“ ‘ Hush ! ’ he  said,  * something’s 


40  The  Light  Invisible 

coming,’  and  he  jumped  out  of  the  path 
behind  a tree,  and  I followed  him. 

“Then  we  heard  a scuffling  in  front  of  us 
and  a grunting,  and  some  big  creature  came 
hurrying  down  the  path.  As  it  passed  us  I 
looked,  almost  terrified  out  of  my  mind, 
and  saw  that  it  was  a huge  pig;  but  the 
thing  that  held  me  breathless  and  sick  was 
that  there  ran  nearly  the  whole  length  of  its 
back  a deep  wound,  from  which  the  blood 
dripped.  The  creature,  grunting  heavily, 
tore  down  the  path  towards  the  cottage, 
and  presently  the  sound  of  it  died  away. 
As  I leaned  against  Jack,  I could  feel  his 
arm  trembling  as  it  held  the  tree. 

“ ‘ Oh ! ’ he  said  in  a moment,  ‘ we  must 
get  out  of  this.  Which  way,  which 
way?’ 

“ But  I had  been  still  listening,  and  held 
him  quiet. 

“ ‘ Wait,’  I said,  ‘ there  is  something 
else.’ 

“ Out  of  the  wood  in  front  of  us  there 
came  a panting,  and  the  soft  sounds  of 


41 


The  Blood-Eagle 

hobbling  steps  along  the  path.  We 
crouched  lower  and  watched.  Presently 
the  figure  of  a bent  old  man  came  in  sight, 
making  his  way  quickly  along  the  path. 
He  seemed  startled  and  out  of  breath.  His 
mouth  was  moving,  and  he  was  talking  to 
himself  in  a low  voice  in  a complaining 
tone,  but  his  eyes  searched  the  wood  from 
side  to  side. 

“ As  he  came  quite  close  to  us,  as  we  lay 
hardly  daring  to  breathe,  I saw  one  of  his 
hands  that  hung  in  front  of  him,  opening 
and  shutting ; and  that  it  was  stained  with 
what  looked  black  in  the  moonlight.  He 
did  not  see  us,  as  by  now  we  were  hidden 
by  a great  bramble  bush,  and  he  passed 
on  down  the  path ; and  then  all  was  silent 
again. 

“ When  a few  minutes  had  passed  in 
perfect  stillness,  we  got  up  and  went  on, 
but  neither  of  us  cared  to  walk  in  the  path 
down  which  those  two  terrible  dripping 
things  had  come;  and  we  went  stumbling 
over  the  broken  ground,  keeping  a parallel 


42  The  Light  Invisible 

course  to  the  path  for  about  another  two 
hundred  yards.  Jack  had  begun  to  recover 
himself,  and  even  began  to  talk  and  laugh 
at  being  frightened  at  a pig  and  an  old  man. 
He  told  me  afterwards  that  he  had  not  seen 
the  old  man’s  hand. 

“Then  the  path  began  to  lead  uphill. 
At  this  point  I suddenly  stopped  Jack. 

“ ‘ Do  you  see  nothing  ? ’ I asked. 

“ Now  I scarcely  remember  what  I said 
or  did.  But  this  is  what  my  friend  told  me 
afterwards.  Jack  said  there  was  nothing 
but  a little  rising  ground  in  front,  from 
which  the  trees  stood  back. 

“ ‘ Do  you  see  nothing  on  the  top  of  the 
mound  ? Out  in  the  open,  where  the 
moonlight  falls  on  her  ? ’ 

“Jack  told  me  afterwards  that  he  thought 
I had  gone  suddenly  mad,  and  grew 
frightened  himself. 

“ ‘ Do  you  not  see  a woman  standing 
there?  She  has  long  yellowhairin  two  braids; 
she  has  thick  gold  bracelets  on  her  bare 
arms.  She  has  a tunic,  bound  by  a girdle, 


The  Blood-Eagle  43 

and  it  comes  below  her  knees:  and  she  has 
red  jewels  in  her  hair,  on  her  belt,  on  her 
bracelets  ; and  her  eyes  shine  in  the  moon- 
light: and  she  is  waiting, — waiting  for  that 
which  has  escaped.’ 

“Now  Jack  tells  me  that  when  I said 
this  I fell  flat  on  my  face,  with  my  hands 
stretched  out, and  began  to  talk:  but  he  said 
he  could  not  understand  a word  I said.  He 
himself  looked  steadily  at  the  rising  ground, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  there: 
there  were  the  fir-trees  standing  in  a 
circle  round  it,  and  a bare  space  in  the 
middle,  from  which  the  heather  was  gone, 
and  that  was  all.  This  mound  would  be 
about  fifteen  yards  from  us. 

“ I lay  there,  said  Jack,  a few  minutes, 
and  then  sat  up  and  looked  about  me.  Then 
I remembered  for  myself  that  I had  seen 
the  pig  and  the  old  man,  but  nothing  more: 
but  I was  terrified  at  the  remembrance, 
and  insisted  upon  our  striking  out  a new 
course  through  the  wood,  and  leaving  the 
mound  to  our  left.  1 did  not  know  my- 


44  The  Light  Invisible 

self  why  the  mound  frightened  me,  but  I 
dared  not  go  near  it.  Jack  wisely  did  not 
say  anything  more  about  it  until  afterwards. 
We  presently  found  our  way  out  of  the 
copse,  struck  across  the  heath  for  another 
half-mile  or  so,  and  then  came  across  a 
road  which  Jack  knew,  and  so  we  came 
home. 

“ When  we  told  our  story,  and  Jack,  to 
my  astonishment,  had  added  the  part  of 
which  I myself  had  no  remembrance,  Jack’s 
father  did  not  say  very  much;  but  he  took 
us  next  day  to  identify  the  place.  To  our 
intense  surprise  the  house  of  the  broom- 
squire  was  gone;  there  were  the  trampled 
branches  round  the  tree,  and  the  smoked 
branch  from  which  the  oil  lamp  had  hung, 
and  the  ashes  of  a wood-lire  outside  the 
house,  but  no  sign  of  the  old  man  or  his 
wife.  As  we  went  along  the  path,  now  in 
the  cheerful  frosty  sunshine,  we  found  dark 
splashes  here  and  there  on  the  brambles, 
but  they  were  dry  and  colourless.  Then 
we  came  to  the  mound. 


The  Blood-Eagle  45 

“ I grew  uneasy  again  as  we  came  to  it, 
but  was  ashamed  to  show  my  fear  in  the 
broad  daylight. 

“ On  the  top  we  found  a curious  thing, 
which  Jack’s  father  told  us  was  one  of  the 
old  customs  of  the  broomsquires,  that  no 
one  was  altogether  able  to  explain.  The 
ground  was  shovelled  away,  so  as  to  form 
a kind  of  sloping  passage  downwards  into 
the  earth.  The  passage  was  not  more  than 
five  yards  long;  and  at  the  end  of  it,  just 
where  it  was  covered  by  the  ground  over- 
head, was  a sort  of  altar,  made  of  earth 
and  stones  beaten  flat ; and  plastered  into 
its  surface  were  bits  of  old  china  and  glass. 
But  what  startled  us  was  to  find  a dark 
patch  of  something  which  had  soaked  deep 
into  the  ground  before  the  altar.  It  was 
still  damp.” 

When  the  old  man  had  read  so  far,  he 
laid  down  the  book. 

“ When  I told  all  this  to  the  Professor,” 
he  said,  “ he  seemed  very  deeply  interested. 
He  told  us,  I remember,  that  the  wound  on 


46  The  Light  Invisible 

the  pig  identified  the  nature  of  the  sacrifice 
that  the  old  man  had  begun  to  offer.  He 
called  it  a ‘ blood-eagle,’  and  added  some 
details  which  I will  not  disgust  you  with. 
He  said  too  that  the  broomsquire  had  con- 
fused two  rites — that  only  human  sacrifices 
should  be  offered  as  ‘ blood-eagles.’  In 
fact  it  all  seemed  perfectly  familiar  to  him : 
and  he  said  more  than  I can  either  remember 
or  verify.” 

“And  the  woman  on  the  rising  ground?” 
1 asked. 

“ Well,”  said  the  old  man,  smiling,  “ the 
Professor  would  not  listen  to  my  evidence 
about  that.  He  accepted  the  early  part  of 
the  story,  and  simply  declined  to  pay  any 
attention  to  the  woman.  He  said  I had 
been  reading  Norse  tales,  or  was  dreaming. 
He  even  hinted  that  I was  romancing. 
Under  other  circumstances  this  method  of 
treating  evidence  would  be  called  ‘ Highei 
Criticism,’  I believe.” 

“ But  it’s  all  a brutal  and  disgusting 
worship,”  I said. 


The  Blood-Eagle  47 

*‘Yes,  yes,”  said  the  old  man,  “very 
brutal  and  disgusting  ; but  is  it  not  very 
much  higher  and  better  than  the  Professor’s 
faith  ? He  was  only  a skilled  Ritualist 
after  all,  you  see.” 


Over  the  Gateway 


kC — For  faith,  that,  when  my  need  is  sore, 
Gleams  from  a partly-open  door, 

And  shows  the  firelight  on  the  floor — ” 

A Canticle  of  Common  Things 


Over  the  Gateway 


We  were  sitting  together  one  morning 
in  the  common  sitting-room  in  the 
centre  of  the  house.  There  had  been  a fall 
of  rain  during  the  night,  and  it  was  thought 
better  that  the  old  man  should  not  sit  in 
the  garden  until  the  sun  had  dried  the 
earth — so  we  sat  indoors  instead,  but  with 
the  great  door  wide  open,  that  looked  on 
to  a rectangle  of  lawn  that  lay  before  the 
house.  Once  a drive  had  led  to  this  door 
through  a gate  with  pedestals  and  stone 
balls,  that  stood  exactly  opposite,  about 
fifteen  yards  away,  but  the  drive  had  long 


52  The  Light  Invisible 

been  grassed  over;  although  even  now  it 
showed  faintly  under  two  slight  ridges  in 
the  grass  that  ran  from  the  gate  to  the 
door.  Otherwise  the  lawn  was  enclosed  by 
a low  old  brick  wall,  almost  hidden  by  a 
wealth  of  ivy,  against  which  showed  in  rich 
masses  of  colour  the  heads  of  purple  and 
yellow  irises  and  tawny  wallflowers. 

The  old  man  had  been  silent  at  break- 
fast. He  had  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice  as 
usual  that  morning  in  the  little  chapel  up- 
stairs, and  I had  noticed  at  the  time  even 
that  he  seemed  pre-occupied  : and  at  break- 
fast he  had  talked  very  little,  letting  every 
subject  drop  as  I suggested  it;  and  I had 
understood  at  last  that  his  thoughts  were 
far  away  in  the  past ; and  I did  not  wish  to 
trouble  him. 

We  were  sitting  in  two  tall  carved  chairs 
at  the  doorway,  his  feet  were  wrapped  in  a 
rug,  and  his  eyes  were  looking  steadily  and 
mournfully  out  across  towards  the  iron- 
work gate  in  the  wall.  Tall  grasses  of  the 
patch  of  uncut  meadow  outside  leaned 


Over  the  Gateway  53 

against  it  or  pushed  their  feathery  heads 
through  it ; and  I saw  presently  that  the 
priest  was  looking  at  the  gate,  letting  his 
eyes  rove  over  every  detail  of  climbing 
plant,  iron-work  and  the  old  brickwork — 
and  not,  as  I had  at  first  thought,  merely 
gazing  into  the  dim  distances  of  the  years 
behind  him. 

Suddenly  he  broke  the  long  silence. 

“ Did  I ever  tell  you,”  he  asked,  “ about 
what  I saw  out  there  in  the  garden  ? It 
looks  ordinary  enough  now  : yet  I saw 
there  what  I suppose  I shall  never  see  again 
on  this  side  of  death,  or  at  least  not  until  I 
am  in  the  very  gate  of  death  itself.” 

I too  looked  out  at  the  gate.  The 
atmosphere  was  full  of  that  “ clear  shining 
after  rain  ” of  which  King  David  sang — it 
was  air  made  visible  and  radiant  by  the 
union  of  light  and  water,  those  two  most 
joyous  creatures  of  God.  A great  chestnut 
tree  blotted  out  all  beyond  the  gate. 

“ Tell  me  if  you  can,”  I said.  “You 
know  how  1 love  to  hear  those  stories.” 


54  The  Light  Invisible 

“Years  ago,  as  perhaps  you  know,  not 
long  after  my  ordination  I was  working  in 
London.  My  father  lived  here  then,  as 
his  father  before  him.  That  coat  of  arms 
in  the  centre  of  that  iron  gate  was  put  up 
by  him  soon  after  he  succeeded  to  the 
property.  I used  to  come  down  here  now 
and  then  for  a breath  of  country  air.  I 
hardly  remember  any  pleasure  so  keen  as 
the  pleasure  of  coming  into  this  glorious 
country  air  out  of  the  smoke  and  noise  of 
London — or  of  lying  awake  at  night  with 
the  rustle  of  the  pines  outside  my  window 
instead  of  the  ceaseless  human  tumult  of 
the  town. 

“ Well,  I came  down  here  once,  suddenly, 
on  a summer  evening,  bearing  heavy  news. 
1 need  not  go  into  details;  it  would  be 
useless  to  do  that — but  it  will  be  enough 
to  say  that  the  news  did  not  personally 
affect  me  or  my  family.  It  was  a curious 
series  of  circumstances  that  led  me  to  be 
the  bearer  of  such  news  at  all — but  it  was 
to  a lady  who  happened  by  the  merest 


Over  the  Gateway  55 

chance  to  be  staying  with  my  family.  I 
scarcely  knew  her  at  all — in  fact  I had  only 
seen  her  once  before.  The  news  had  come 
to  my  ears  in  London,  and  I had  heard 
that  the  one  whom  it  most  concerned  did 
not  know  it — and  that  they  dared  not  write 
or  telegraph.  I volunteered  of  course  to 
take  the  news  myself. 

“ It  was  with  a very  heavy  heart  that  I 
walked  up  from  the  station — the  road 
seemed  intolerably  short.  I may  say  that 
I knew  that  the  news  would  be  heart- 
breaking to  her  who  had  to  hear  it.  1 
came  in  by  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue  ” (he  waved  his  hand  round  to  the 
right)  “ and  passed  right  down  to  the  back 
of  the  house,  behind  us.  This  door  a. 
which  we  are  sitting  had  been  the  front 
door,  but  the  drive  had  just  been  turfed 
over,  and  we  used  the  door  at  the  back 
instead,  and  this  lawn  here  was  very  much 
as  you  see  it  now,  only  the  drive  still 
showed  plainly  like  a long  narrow  grave 
across  the  grass. 


$6  The  Light  Invisible 

“ As  I came  in  through  the  door  at  tht 
back,  she  was  coming  out,  with  a book  and 
a basket-chair  to  sit  in  the  garden.  My 
heart  gave  a terrible  throb  of  pain — for  I 
knew  that  by  the  time  my  business  was 
done  there  would  be  no  thought  of  a quiet 
evening  in  the  garden,  and  that  look  of 
serene  happiness  would  be  wiped  out  of  her 
face — and  all  through  what  I had  to  say. 
For  a moment  she  did  not  recognise  me  in 
the  dark  entry  and  stood  back  as  I came  in, 
and  then 

“ ‘ Why  it  is  you,’  she  said ; ‘ you  have 
come  home.  1 did  not  know  you  were 
expected.’ 

“ I breathed  a moment  steadily  to  recover 
myself. 

“ ‘ I was  not  expected,’  I said ; and  then, 
after  a moment  : ‘ May  I speak  to  you  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Speak  to  me  ? Why,  certainly.  In 
the  garden  or  here  ? ’ 

“ ‘ In  here,’  I answered,  and  went  past 
her  and  pushed  open  the  door  into  this 


room. 


Over  the  Gateway  57 

“ She  came  past  me,  and  stood  here  by 
the  door  still  holding  the  book,  with  het 
finger  between  the  leaves. 

“ Now  you  are  wondering,  I expect,  why 
I did  not  get  some  other  woman  to  break 
the  news  to  her.  Well,  I had  debated  that 
ever  since  I had  volunteered  to  be  the 
bearer  of  these  tidings : and  partly  because 
I was  afraid  of  being  cowardly — call  it 
pride  if  you  will — and  partly  for  other 
reasons  which  I need  not  mention,  I felt  I 
was  bound  to  fulfil  my  promise  literally. 
It  might  be,  I thought  too,  that  she  would 
prefer  the  news  to  be  known  by  as  few 
people  as  possible.  At  least,  whether  I 
judged  rightly  or  wrongly,  here  was  my 
task  before  me. 

“ She  stood  there,”  the  old  man  went  on, 
pointing  to  the  doorpost  on  the  right,  “ and 
I here,”  and  he  pointed  a yard  further  back, 
“ and  the  door  was  wide  open  as  it  is  now, 
and  the  fragrant  evening  air  poured  past  us 
into  the  room.  Her  face  would  be  partly 
in  shadow ; but  in  her  eyes  there  was  just  a 


5$  The  Light  Invisible 

dawning  wonder  at  my  abruptness,  with 
perhaps  the  faintest  tinge  of  anxiety,  but 
no  more. 

“ ‘ I have  come,’  I said  slowly,  looking 
out  into  the  garden,  ‘ on  a very  hard 
errand.’  I could  not  go  on.  I turned 
and  looked  at  her.  Ah ! the  anxiety  had 
deepened  a little.  ‘ And — and  it  concerns 
you  and  your  happiness.’  I looked  again, 
and  I remember  how  her  face  had  changed. 
Her  lips  were  a little  open,  and  her  eyes 
shone  wide  open,  half  in  shadow  and  half 
in  light,  and  there  were  new  and  terrible 
little  lines  on  her  forehead.  And  then  I 
told  her. 

“ It  was  done  in  a sentence  or  two, 
and  when  I looked  again  her  lips  had  closed 
and  her  hand  had  clenched  itself  into  the 
moulding  of  the  doorpost.  I can  see  her 
rings  now  blazing  in  the  light  that  poured 
over  the  chestnut  tree  (it  was  lower  then) 
into  the  room.  Then  her  lips  moved  once 
or  twice — her  hand  unclenched  itself  hesi- 
tatingly— and  she  went  steadily  across  the 


Over  the  Gateway  59 

room.  There  was  a great  sofa  there  then, 
and  when  she  reached  it  she  threw  her- 
self face  downwards  across  the  arm  and 
back. 

“ And  I waited  at  the  doorway,  looking 
out  at  the  iron  gate.  Sorrow  was  new  to 
me  then.  I had  not  learnt  to  understand 
it  then,  or  to  be  quiet  under  it.  And  as  I 
looked  I knew  only  that  there  was  a 
terrible  struggle  going  on  in  the  room 
behind.  There  in  front  of  me  was  a 
garden  full  of  peace  and  sweetness  and  the 
soft  glow  of  sunset  light ; and  there  behind 
me  was  something  very  like  hell — and  I 
stood  between  the  living  and  the  dead. 

“ Then  I remembered  that  I was  a 
priest,  and  ought  to  be  able  to  say  something 
— just  a word  of  the  Divine  message  that 
the  Saviour  brought — but  I could  not. 
I felt  I was  in  deep  waters.  Even  God 
seemed  far  away,  intolerably  serene  and 
aloof;  and  I longed  with  all  my  power 
for  a human  person  to  pray  and  to  bear  a 
little  of  that  strife  behind  me,  from  which 


60  The  Light  Invisible 

I felt  separated  by  so  wide  a gulf.  And 
then  God  gave  me  the  clear  vision  again. 

“ You  see  the  iron  gate,”  the  old  man 
went  on,  pointing.  “ Well,  right  between 
those  posts,  but  a little  above  them, 
outlined  clearly  against  the  chestnut  tree, 
beyond,  was  the  figure  of  a man. 

“ Now  I do  not  know  how  to  explain 
myself,  but  I was  conscious  that  across  this 
material  world  of  light  and  colour  there 
cut  a plane  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  that 
where  the  planes  crossed  I could  look 
through  and  see  what  was  beyond.  It  was 
like  smoke  cutting  across  a sunbeam.  Each 
made  the  other  visible. 

“ Well,  this  figure  of  a man,  then,  was 
kneeling  in  the  air,  that  is  the  only  way  I 
can  describe  it — his  face  was  turned  towards 
me,  but  upwards.  Now  the  most  curious 
thing  that  struck  me  at  the  time  was  that 
he  was,  as  it  were,  leaning  at  a sharp  angle 
to  one  side ; but  it  did  not  appear  to  be 
grotesque.  Instead  the  world  seemed  tilted ; 
the  chestnut  tree  was  out  of  the  perpen- 


Over  the  Gateway  61 

dicular;  the  wall  out  of  the  horizontal. 
The  true  level  was  that  of  the  man. 

“ I know  this  sounds  foolish,  but  it 
showed  me  how  the  world  of  spirits  was 
the  real  world,  and  the  world  of  sense 
comparatively  unreal,  just  as  the  sorrow  of 
the  woman  behind  me  was  more  real  than 
the  beams  overhead. 

“ And  again,  compared  with  the  kneel- 
ing figure,  the  chestnut  tree  and  the  gate 
seemed  unsubstantial  and  shadowy.  I 
know  that  men  who  see  visions  tell  us 
that  it  is  usually  the  other  way.  All  I can 
say  is  that  it  was  not  so  with  me.  This 
figure  was  kneeling,  as  I have  said;  his 
robe  streamed  away  behind  him — a great 
cloak — drawn  tightly  back  from  the 
shoulders,  as  if  he  were  battling  with  a 
strong  wind — the  Wind  of  Grace,  I sup- 
pose, that  always  blows  from  the  Throne. 
His  arms  were  stretched  out  in  front  of 
him,  but  opened  sufficiently  to  let  me  see 
his  face ; and  his  face  will  be  with  me  till  I 
die,  and  please  God  afterwards.  It  was 


62  The  Light  Invisible 

beardless,  and  bore  the  unmistakable  cha- 
racter of  a priest’s  face. 

“ Now  you  know  how  close  the  intensest 
pain  and  the  intensest  joy  lie  together. 
Their  lines  so  nearly  meet.  In  this  man’s 
face  they  did  meet.  Anguish  and  ecstasy 
were  one.  His  eyes  were  open,  his  lips 
parted.  I could  not  tell  whether  he  was 
old  or  young.  His  face  was  ageless,  as 
the  faces  of  all  are  who  look  upon  Him 
who  inhabits  eternity.  He  was  praying. 
I can  say  no  more  than  that.  He  had 
opened  his  heart  to  this  woman’s  sorrow. 
He  had  made  it  his  own : and  it  met  there, 
in  petition  if  you  wish  to  call  it  so,  or  in 
resignation  if  you  prefer  that  name  for  it, 
or  in  adoration — you  may  call  it  what  you 
will — all  that  is  true,  but  each  is  inadequate 
— but  that  sorrow  met  there  with  his  own 
purified  will,  which  itself  had  become  one 
with  the  eternal  will  of  God.  I tell  you 
I know  it. 

“ I looked  at  him,  and  in  my  ears  was 
a sobbing  from  the  room  behind  ; but  as  I 


Over  the  Gateway  63 

looked  the  glory  of  anguish  deepened  on 
his  face,  and  the  sobbing  behind  me 
slackened  and  ceased,  and  I heard  a 
whispering  and  the  name  of  God  and  of 
His  Son,  and  then  the  sight  before  me  had 
passed;  and  there  stood  the  chestnut  tree 
again  as  real  and  as  beautiful  as  before ; and 
when  I turned  the  woman  was  standing  up, 
and  the  light  of  conquest  was  in  her  eyes. 

“ She  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  and  I 
stooped  and  kissed  it,  but  I dared  not  take 
it  in  my  own,  for  she  had  been  in  heavenly 
places.  I had  seen  her  sorrow  carried  and 
laid  before  the  throne  of  God  by  one 
greater  than  either  of  us,  and  something 
of  his  glory  rested  upon  her.” 

The  old  man’s  voice  ceased.  When 
I turned  to  look  at  him  he  was  looking 
steadily  again  at  the  iron  gate  in  the  wall, 
and  his  eyes  were  shining  like  the  radiant 
air  outside.  “ I do  not  know,”  he  said  in 
a moment,  “ whether  she  is  alive  or  dead, 
but  I offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice  this  morn- 
ing for  her  peace  in  either  state.” 


Poena  Damn! 


E 


^ All  their  sins  stand  before  them, 
and  produce  in  their  essences 
remorse,  eternal  despair  and  a 
hostile  will  against  God.  For 
such  a soul  there  is  no  remedy 
It  cannot  come  into  the  light  of 
God.  . . . Even  if  St.  Peter  had 
left  many  thousand  keys  upon 
earth,  not  a single  one  of  them 
could  open  Heaven  for  it.” 

A German  Mystic 


Poena  Damni 


e were  sitting  at  dinner  one  evening 


when  the  priest,  who  had  been 
talkative,  seemed  to  fall  into  a painful  train 
of  thought  that  silenced  him.  He  grew 
more  and  more  ill  at  ease,  and  was  ob- 
viously relieved  when  I threw  my  cigarette 
away  and  he  was  able  to  propose  a move 
to  the  next  room.  Presently  his  distress 
seemed  to  pass ; and  then,  as  we  sat  near 
the  fireplace,  he  explained  himself. 

“ I must  ask  your  pardon,”  he  said, 
“ but  somehow  I fell  into  a very  dreadful 
train  of  thought.  It  was  suggested  to  me, 


68  The  Light  Invisible 

I think,  by  the  red  lamp  on  the  table  and 
the  evening  light  through  the  windows, 
and  the  silver  and  glass.  (You  know  the 
power  of  association  !)  I went  through 
one  of  the  most  fearful  moments  of  my 
life  under  just  those  circumstances.” 

I was  silent,  as  the  priest  seemed  to  have 
more  to  say. 

“ It  has  affected  my  nerves,”  he  said, 
“ and  it  would  be  rather  a relief  to  tell 
you.  Would  you  mind  if  I did  so?  ” 

On  my  assurance  that  it  would  greatly 
interest  me,  he  began. 

“ It  is  a fashion  among  those  who  do 
not  really  accept  Revelation  as  revelation 
to  believe  in  a kind  of  Universalism.  Quite 
apart  from  authority,  this  doctrine  contra- 
venes, as  you  of  course  know,  the  reality 
of  man’s  free  will.  The  incident  of  which 
I wish  to  tell  you  concerns  the  way  in  which 
I first  caught  a glimpse  of  that  for  myself. 

“ A good  many  years  ago  I made  the 
acquaintance  of  a man  in  the  West  of 
England,  under  circumstances  that  I need 


Pcena  Damni  69 

not  describe  further  than  saying  that  he 
seemed  to  have  confidence  in  me.  He 
asked  me  to  stay  with  him  in  his  country 
house,  and  I went  down  from  London  for 
the  inside  of  a week.  I found  him  living 
the  usual  country  life,  fishing  and  so  forth ; 
for  it  was  summer  when  I visited  him.  It 
was  a fine  old  house  that  he  lived  in, 
surrounded  by  coverts.  He  had  a charm- 
ing wife  and  two  or  three  children,  and  at 
first  I thought  him  extremely  happy  and 
contented. 

“Then  I thought  that  I noticed  that 
things  were  not  so  well  with  him.  The 
cottages  on  his  estate  were  ill-cared  for,  and 
that  is  always  a bad  sign.  From  one  or 
two  small  signs,  such  as  you  can  guess,  I 
found  that  the  tone  among  his  servants 
was  not  what  it  should  be  ; and  one  or  two 
horrid  pieces  of  cruelty  came  under  my 
notice.  I know  this  sounds  as  if  I were 
a sort  of  spy,  greedy  for  information;  but 
all  that  I can  say  is,  that  these  signs  were 
unmistakable  and  obvious,  and  came  to 


jo  The  Light  Invisible 

me,  of  course,  unsought  and  unexpected. 
Then  I saw  that  his  domestic  relations  were 
not  right.  I do  not  know  how  else  to 
describe  all  this  than  by  saying  that  there 
seemed  a kind  of  blight  upon  his  sur- 
roundings. Nothing  was  absolutely  wrong, 
and  yet  all  was  just  wrong. 

“ At  first  I thought  that  I myself  was 
depressed  or  jaundiced  in  some  way  ; but 
at  last  I could  not  continue  to  believe  that ; 
and  on  the  Friday  of  my  stay,  the  last  day,  I 
became  finally  certain  that  something  was 
horribly  wrong  with  the  man  himself. 
Then  that  evening  he  opened  his  heart  to 
me,  so  far  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
do  so. 

“ His  wife,  with  the  two  daughters,  had 
left  us  after  dessert  and  gone  into  the 
garden,  and  we  remained  in  the  dining- 
room. The  windows  looked  to  the  west, 
across  a smooth  sloping  lawn,  with  the  lake 
at  the  end  ; beyond  that  rose  up  a delicate 
birch  wood,  and  beyond  that  again  a soft 
green  sky,  where  the  sun  had  set,  deepening 


Poena  Damni  71 

into  a liquid  evening  blue  overhead,  in 
which  a star  or  two  glimmered.  I could 
see,  as  I looked  out,  the  white  figures  of 
his  wife  and  daughters  against  the  shining 
surface  of  the  lake  at  the  end  of  the  lawn. 

“ After  he  had  lit  his  cigarette,  and  had 
a glass  or  two  of  wine,  suddenly  he  opened 
his  heart  to  me,  and  told  me  an  appalling 
story  that  I could  not  tell  you.  I sat  and 
watched  his  strong  sinewy  hand  rise  and 
fall  with  the  cigarette,  under  the  red  lamp- 
light; I glanced  at  his  quiet  well-bred  face 
with  the  downcast  eyes  and  the  long 
moustache,  and  I wondered  whether  it 
was  possible  really  for  such  a tale  to  be 
true  ; but  he  spoke  with  a restrained  con- 
viction that  left  no  room  for  doubt.  What 
I gathered  from  the  story  was  this ; — that 
he  had  identified  himself,  his  whole  will, 
his  whole  life  practically,  with  the  cause  of 
Satan.  I could  not  detect  as  he  talked 
that  he  had  ever  seriously  attempted  to 
detach  himself  from  that  cause.  It  has 
been  said  that  a saint  is  one  who  always 


72  The  Light  Invisible 

chooses  the  better  of  the  two  courses  open 
to  him  at  every  step;  so  far  as  I could  see 
this  man  had  always  chosen  the  worse  of 
the  two  courses.  When  he  had  done 
things  that  you  and  I would  think  right, 
he  had  always  done  them  for  some  bad 
reason.  He  had  been  continuously  aware, 
too,  of  what  was  happening.  I do  not 
think  that  I have  ever  heard  such  a skilful 
self-analysis.  Now  and  then,  as  I saw  the 
gulf  of  despair  towards  which  his  talk  was 
leading,  I interrupted  him,  suggesting 
alleviations  of  the  horror — suggesting  that 
he  was  pessimistic — that  he  had  acted  often 
under  misconceptions — and  the  like;  but 
he  always  met  me  with  a quiet  answer  that 
silenced  me.  In  fact,”  said  the  priest,  who 
was  beginning  to  tremble  a little,  “ I have 
never  thought  it  possible  that  a heart 
could  be  so  corrupt  and  yet  retain  so 
much  knowledge  and  feeling. 

“When  he  had  finished  his  story  he 
looked  at  me  for  a moment,  and  then  said : 

“ ‘ Lately  I have  seen  what  I have  lost, 


Poena  Damni 


73 

and  what  I shall  lose ; and  I have  told  you 
this  to  ask  if  the  Christian  Gospel  has  any 
hope  for  such  as  I am.’ 

“Of  course  I answered  as  a Christian 
priest  must  answer,  for  I honestly  thought 
that  here  was  the  greatest  miracle  of  God’s 
grace  that  I had  ever  seen.  When  I had 
finished  I lifted  my  eyes  from  the  cloth 
and  looked  up.  His  fingers,  while  I was 
speaking,  had  been  playing  with  an  apostle 
spoon,  but  as  I looked  up  he  looked  up 
too,  and  our  eyes  met.” 

As  the  priest  said  this,  he  got  up,  and 
leaned  his  head  against  the  high  oak  mantel- 
piece, and  was  silent  a moment.  Then  he 
went  on : 

“ God  forgive  me  if  I was  wrong — if  I 
am  wrong  now — but  this  is  what  I think  I 
saw. 

“ Out  of  his  eyes  looked  a lost  soul. 
As  a symbol,  or  a sign,  too,  his  eyes  shone 
suddenly  with  that  dull  red  light  that  you 
may  see  sometimes  in  a dog’s  eyes.  It  was 
the  poena  damni  of  which  I had  read,  which 


74  The  Light  Invisible 

shone  there.  It  was  true,  as  he  had  said, 
that  he  was  seeing  clearly  what  he  had  lost 
and  would  lose  ; it  was  the  gate  of  heaven 
opening  to  one  who  could  not  enter  in. 
It  was  the  chink  of  light  under  the  door  to 
one  who  cried,  ‘ Lord,  Lord,  open  to  me,’ 
but  through  the  door  there  came  that 
answer,  ‘ I know  you  not.’  Ah  ! it  was  not 
that  he  had  never  known  before  what  God 
was,  and  His  service  and  love  ; it  was  just 
his  condemnation  that  he  had  known : that 
he  had  seen,  not  once  or  twice  but  again  and 
again,  the  two  ways,  and  had,  not  once  nor 
twice  but  again  and  again,  chosen  the 
worse  of  those  two ; and  now  he  was 
powerless. 

“ I tell  you  I saw  this  for  a moment. 
There  was  this  human  face,  so  well-bred, 
with  its  delicate  lines,  looking  almost 
ethereal  in  the  soft  red  light  of  the  lamp  : 
behind  him,  between  the  windows  hung  a 
portrait  of  an  ancestor,  some  old  Caroline 
divine  in  ruff  and  bands.  Through  the 
windows  was  that  sweet  glory  of  evening — 


Poena  Damni 


75 

with  the  three  figures  by  the  lake.  Here, 
between  us,  was  the  delicate  soothing  luxury 
of  cleanliness  and  coolness  and  refreshment, 
such  as  glass  and  silver  and  fruit  suggest : 
and  there  for  one  second  in  this  frame  of 
beauty  and  peace  looked  the  eyes  of  one 
who  desired  even  a drop  of  living  water  to 
cool  his  tongue,  for  he  was  tormented  in  a 
flame. 

“ And  I saw  all  this ; and  then  the  room 
began  to  swim  and  whirl,  and  the  table 
to  tilt  and  sway,  and  I fell,  I suppose,  for- 
ward, and  sank  down  on  to  the  floor. 
When  I recovered  there  were  the  men  in 
the  room,  and  the  anxious  face  of  my  host 
looking  down  on  me. 

“ I had  to  return  to  town  the  next 
morning.  I wrote  to  him  a long  letter 
the  following  week,  saying  that  I had  been 
ill  on  the  evening  on  which  he  had  given 
me  his  confidence : and  that  I had  not  said 
all  that  I could  say:  and  I went  on,  giving 
the  lie  to  what  I had  thought  I had  seen, 
speaking  to  him  as  I should  speak  to  any 


y6  The  Light  Invisible 

soul  who  was  weary  of  sin  and  desired 
God. 

“ Indeed  I thought  it  most  possible,  as  I 
wrote  the  letter,  that  I had  had  a horrible 
delusion ; and  that  all  could  be  well  with 
him.  I got  an  answer  of  a few  lines,  saying 
that  he  must  apologise  for  having  troubled 
me  with  such  a story ; adding  that  he  had 
greatly  exaggerated  his  own  sin ; that  he 
too  had  been  over-excited  and  unwell:  and 
that  he  too  trusted  in  a God  of  Love — and 
begging  me  not  to  refer  to  the  conversation 
again.” 

The  priest  sat  down  again. 

“Now  you  may  of  course  accept  this 
version  of  it,  if  you  will.  I only  would  to 
God  that  I could  too.” 


Consolatrix  Afflictorum  ” 


u Should  it  be  burdensome  for 
thee  . . . she  will  for  thy  sake 
herself  raise  me  up  when  I chance 
to  fall,  and  console  me  when 
sorrowing.” 

SI.  Leander  of  Seville. 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum  * 


he  following  letter  will  explain  itself. 


The  original  was  read  to  me  by  my 
friend  on  one  of  those  days  during  my  stay 
with  him;  and  he  allowed  me,  at  my 
request,  to  make  a copy.  The  sermon 
referred  to  in  the  first  sentence  of  the 
letter  was  preached  in  a foreign  watering- 
place  on  Christmas  Day. 

“Villa  

“ December  29,  18 — 

“ Reverend  and  Dear  Sir, 

“ I listened  with  great  attention  to 
your  sermon  on  Christmas  Day ; I am 


8o  The  Light  Invisible 

getting  on  in  years,  and  I am  an  invalid; 
so  you  will  understand  that  I have  few 
friends — and  I think  none  who  would  not 
think  me  mad  if  I told  them  the  story  that 
I am  proposing  to  tell  you.  For  many 
years  1 have  been  silent  on  this  subject; 
since  it  always  used  to  be  received  with 
incredulity.  But  I fancy  that  you  will  not 
be  incredulous.  As  I watched  you  and 
listened  to  you  on  Christmas  Day,  I 
thought  I saw  in  you  one  to  whom  the 
supernatural  was  more  than  a beautiful  and 
symbolical  fairy-story,  and  one  who  held 
it  not  impossible  that  this  unseen  should 
sometimes  manifest  itself.  As  you  re- 
minded us,  the  Religion  of  the  Incarnation 
rests  on  the  fact  that  the  Infinite  and  the 
Eternal  expresses  Himself  in  terms  of 
space  and  time ; and  that  it  is  in  this  that 
the  greatness  of  the  Love  of  God  consists. 
Since  then,  as  you  said,  the  Creation,  the 
Incarnation,  and  the  Sacramental  System 
alike,  in  various  degree,  are  the  manifesta- 
tion of  God  under  these  conditions,  surely  it 


“ Consolatnx  Affiictorum  ” 8 1 


cannot  be  ‘materialistic’  (whatever  that 
exactly  means),  to  believe  that  the  ‘ spirit- 
ual ’ world  and  the  personages  that  inhabit 
it  sometimes  express  themselves  in  the  same 
manner  as  their  Maker.  However,  will 
you  have  patience  with  me  while  I tell  you 
this  story  ? I cannot  believe  that  such  a 
grace  should  be  kept  in  darkness. 

“ I was  about  seven  years  old  when  my 
mother  died,  and  my  father  left  me  chiefly 
to  the  care  of  servants.  Either  I must  have 
been  a difficult  child,  or  my  nurse  must 
have  been  a hard  woman : but  I never  gave 
her  my  confidence.  I had  clung  to  my 
mother  as  a saint  clings  to  God : and  when 
I lost  her,  it  nearly  broke  my  heart.  Night 
after  night  I used  to  lie  awake,  with  the 
firelight  in  the  room,  remembering  how  she 
would  look  in  on  her  way  to  bed ; when  at 
last  I slept  it  seems  to  me  now  as  if  I never 
did  anything  but  dream  of  her ; and  it  was 
only  to  wake  again  to  that  desolate  empti- 
ness. I would  torture  myself  by  closing 
my  eyes,  and  fancying  she  was  there ; and 

F 


82  The  Light  Invisible 

then  opening  them  and  seeing  the  room 
empty.  I would  turn  and  toss  and  sob 
without  a sound.  I suppose  that  I was  as 
near  the  limit  that  divides  sanity  from 
madness  as  it  is  possible  to  be.  During 
the  day  I would  sit  on  the  stairs  when  I 
could  get  away  from  my  nurse,  and  pretend 
that  my  mother’s  footsteps  were  moving 
overhead,  that  her  door  opened,  that  I 
heard  her  dress  on  the  carpet : again  I 
would  open  my  eyes,  and  in  self-cruelty 
compel  myself  to  understand  that  she  was 
gone.  Then  again  I would  tell  myself  that 
it  was  all  right : that  she  was  away  for  the 
day,  but  would  come  back  at  night.  In 
the  evenings  I would  be  happier,  as  the 
time  for  her  return  drew  nearer  ; even  when 
I said  my  prayers  I would  look  forward 
to  the  moment,  into  which  I had  cheated 
myself  in  believing,  when  the  door  would 
open,  after  I was  in  bed,  and  my  mother 
look  in.  Then  as  the  time  passed,  my  false 
faith  would  break  down,  and  I would  sob 
myself  to  sleep,  dream  of  her,  and  sob  my- 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum  ” 83 


self  awake  again.  As  I look  back  it  appears 
to  me  as  if  this  went  on  for  months  : I 
suppose,  however,  in  reality,  it  could  not 
have  been  more  than  a very  few  weeks, 
or  my  reason  would  have  given  way. 
And  at  last  I was  caught  on  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  and  drawn  lovingly  back  to  safety 
and  peace. 

“ I used  to  sleep  alone  in  the  night- 
nursery  at  this  time,  and  my  nurse  occu- 
pied a room  opening  out  of  it.  The  night- 
nursery  had  two  doors,  one  at  the  foot  of 
my  bed,  and  one  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  in  the  corner  diagonally  opposite  to 
that  in  which  the  head  of  my  bed  stood. 
The  first  opened  upon  the  landing,  and  the 
second  into  my  nurse’s  room,  and  this 
latter  was  generally  kept  a few  inches  open. 
There  was  no  light  in  my  room,  but  a 
night-light  was  kept  burning  in  the  nurse’s 
room,  so  that  even  without  the  firelight  my 
room  was  not  in  total  darkness. 

“ I was  lying  awake  one  night  (I  suppose 
it  would  be  about  eleven  o’clock),  having 


84  The  Light  Invisible 

gone  through  a dreadful  hour  or  two  of 
misery,  half-waking  and  half-sleeping.  I 
had  been  crying  quietly,  for  fear  my  nurse 
should  hear  through  the  partly  opened  door, 
burying  my  hot  face  in  the  pillow.  I was 
feeling  really  exhausted,  listening  to  my 
own  heart,  and  cheating  myself  into  the 
half-faith  that  its  throbs  were  the  footsteps 
of  my  mother  coming  towards  my  room ; I 
had  raised  my  face  and  was  staring  at  the 
door  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  when  it  opened 
suddenly  without  a sound  ; and  there,  as  I 
thought,  my  mother  stood,  with  the  light 
from  the  oil-lamp  outside  shining  upon 
her.  She  was  dressed,  it  seemed,  as  once 
before  I had  seen  her  in  London,  when  she 
came  into  my  room  to  bid  me  good-night 
before  she  went  out  to  an  evening  party. 
Her  head  shone  with  jewels  that  flashed  as 
the  firelight  rose  and  sank  in  the  room,  a 
dark  cloak  shrouded  her  neck  and  shoul- 
ders, one  hand  held  the  edge  of  the  door, 
and  a great  jewel  gleamed  on  one  of  her 
fingers.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  at  me. 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum  ” 85 

“ I sat  up  in  bed  in  a moment,  amazed 
but  not  frightened,  for  was  it  not  what  I 
had  so  often  fancied?  and  I called  out  to 
her: 

“ ‘ Mother,  mother  ! * 

“ At  the  word  she  turned  and  looked  on 
to  the  landing,  and  gave  a slight  move- 
ment with  her  head,  as  if  to  some  one  wait- 
ing there,  either  of  assent  or  dismissal,  and 
then  turned  to  me  again.  The  door  closed 
silently,  and  I could  see  in  the  firelight,  and 
in  the  faint  glimmer  that  came  through  the 
other  door,  that  she  held  out  her  arms  to 
me.  I threw  off  the  bed-clothes  in  a 
moment,  and  scrambled  down  to  the  end  of 
the  bed,  and  she  lifted  me  gently  in  her 
arms,  but  said  no  word.  I too  said  nothing, 
but  she  raised  the  cloak  a little  and  wrapped 
it  round  me,  and  I lay  there  in  bliss,  my 
head  on  her  shoulder,  and  my  arm  round 
her  neck.  She  walked  smoothly  and  noise- 
lessly to  a rocking-chair  that  stood  beside 
the  fire  and  sat  down,  and  then  began  to 
rock  gently  to  and  fro.  Now  it  may  be 


86  The  Light  Invisible 

difficult  to  believe,  but  I tell  you  that  I 
neither  said  anything,  nor  desired  to  say 
anything.  It  was  enough  that  she  was 
there.  After  a little  while  I suppose  I fell 
asleep,  for  I found  myself  in  an  agony  of 
tears  and  trembling  again,  but  those  arms 
held  me  firmly,  and  I was  soon  at  peace; 
still  she  spoke  no  word,  and  I did  not  see 
her  face. 

“ When  I woke  again  she  was  gone,  and 
it  was  morning,  and  I was  in  bed,  and  the 
nurse  was  drawing  up  the  blind,  and  the 
winter  sunshine  lay  on  the  wall.  That  day 
was  the  happiest  I had  known  since  my 
mother’s  death ; for  I knew  she  would  come 
again. 

“ After  I was  in  bed  that  evening  I lay 
awake  waiting,  so  full  of  happy  content  and 
certainty  that  I fell  asleep.  When  I 
awoke  the  fire  was  out,  and  there  was  no 
light  but  a narrow  streak  that  came  through 
the  door  from  my  nurse’s  room.  I lay  there 
a minute  or  two  waiting,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  the  door  open  at  the  foot  of 


“ Consolatrix  AfHictorum”  87 


my  bed  ; but  the  minutes  passed,  and  then 
the  clock  in  the  hall  below  beat  three.  Then 
I fell  into  a passion  of  tears ; the  night  was 
nearly  gone,  and  she  had  not  come  to  me. 
Then,  as  I tossed  to  and  fro,  trying  to  stifle 
my  crying,  through  my  tears  there  came 
the  misty  flash  of  light  as  the  door  opened, 
and  there  she  stood  again.  Once  again  I 
was  in  her  arms,  and  my  face  on  her  shoul- 
der. And  again  I fell  asleep  there. 

“ Now  this  went  on  night  after  night, 
but  not  every  night,  and  never  unless  I 
awoke  and  cried.  It  seemed  that  if  I 
needed  her  desperately  she  came,  but  only 
then. 

“ But  there  were  two  curious  incidents 
that  occurred  in  the  order  in  which  I will 
write  them  down.  The  second  I under- 
stand now,  at  any  rate;  the  first  I have 
never  altogether  understood,  or  rather  there 
are  several  possible  explanations. 

“ One  night  as  I lay  in  her  arms  by  the  fire, 
a large  coal  suddenly  slipped  from  the  grate 
and  fell  with  a crash,  awaking  the  nurse  in 


88  The  Light  Invisible 

the  other  room.  I suppose  she  thought 
something  was  wrong,  for  she  appeared  at  the 
door  with  a shawl  over  her  shoulders,  hold- 
ing the  night-light  in  one  hand  and  shading 
it  with  the  other.  I was  going  to  speak, 
when  my  mother  laid  her  hand  across  my 
mouth.  The  nurse  advanced  into  the  room, 
passed  close  beside  us,  apparently  without 
seeing  us,  went  straight  to  the  empty  bed, 
looked  down  on  the  tumbled  clothes,  and 
then  turned  away  as  if  satisfied,  and  went 
back  to  her  room.  The  next  day  I man- 
aged to  elicit  from  her,  by  questioning,  the 
fact  that  she  had  been  disturbed  in  the  night, 
and  had  come  into  my  room,  but  had  seen 
me  sleeping  quietly  in  bed. 

“ The  other  incident  was  as  follows. 
One  night  I was  lying  half  dozing  against 
my  mother’s  breast,  my  head  against  her 
heart,  and  not,  as  I usually  lay,  with  my 
head  on  her  shoulder.  As  I lay  there  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I heard  a strange  sound 
like  the  noise  of  the  sea  in  a shell,  but  more 
melodious.  It  is  difficult  to  describe  it, 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum”  89 


hut  it  was  like  the  murmuring  of  a far-off 
crowd,  overlaid  with  musical  pulsations. 
I nestled  closer  to  her  and  listened  ; and 
then  I could  distinguish,  I thought,  innu- 
merable ripples  of  church  bells  pealing,  as 
if  from  another  world.  Then  I listened 
more  intently  to  the  other  sound  ; there 
were  words,  but  I could  not  distinguish 
them.  Again  and  again  a voice  seemed  to 
rise  above  the  others,  but  I could  hear  no 
intelligible  words.  The  voices  cried  in 
every  sort  of  tone — passion,  content,  de- 
spair, monotony.  And  then  as  I listened 
I fell  asleep.  As  I look  back  now,  I have 
no  doubt  what  voices  those  were  that  1 
heard. 

“ And  now  comes  the  end  of  the  story. 
My  health  began  to  improve  so  remarkably 
that  those  about  me  noticed  it.  I never 
gave  way,  during  the  day  at  any  rate,  to 
those  old  piteous  imaginings ; and  at  night, 
when,  I suppose,  the  will  partly  relaxes  its 
control,  whenever  my  distress  reached  a 
certain  point,  she  was  there  to  comfort  me. 


9©  The  Light  Invisible 

But  her  visits  grew  more  and  more  rare,  as 
I needed  her  less,  and  at  last  ceased.  But 
it  is  of  her  last  visit,  which  took  place  in 
the  spring  of  the  following  year,  that  I wish 
to  speak. 

“ I had  slept  well  all  night,  but  had 
awakened  in  the  dark  just  before  the 
dawn  from  some  dream  which  I forget, 
but  which  left  my  nerves  shaken.  When 
in  my  terror  I cried  out,  again  the  door 
opened,  and  she  was  there.  She  stood  with 
the  jewels  in  her  hair,  and  the  cloak  across 
her  shoulders,  and  the  light  from  the  landing 
lay  partly  on  her  face.  I scrambled  at  once 
down  the  bed,  and  was  lifted  and  carried  to 
the  chair,  and  presently  fell  asleep.  When 
I awoke  the  dawn  had  come,  and  the  birds 
were  stirring  and  chirping,  and  a pleasant 
green  light  was  in  the  room;  and  I was  still 
in  her  arms.  It  was  the  first  time,  except 
in  the  instance  I have  mentioned,  that  I had 
awakened  except  in  bed,  and  it  was  a great 
joy  to  find  her  there.  As  I turned  a little 
I saw  the  cloak  which  sheltered  us  both — 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum  ” 91 

of  a deep  blue,  with  an  intricate  pattern  of 
flowers  and  leaves  and  birds  among 
branches.  Then  I turned  still  more  to  see 
her  face,  which  was  so  near  me,  but  it  was 
turned  away  ; and  even  as  I moved  she 
rose  and  carried  me  towards  the  bed.  Still 
holding  me  on  her  left  arm  she  lifted  and 
smoothed  the  bedclothes,  and  then  laid  me 
gently  in  bed,  with  my  head  on  the  pillow. 
And  then  for  the  first  time  I saw  her  face 
plainly.  She  bent  over  me,  with  one  hand 
on  my  breast  as  if  to  prevent  me  from 
rising,  and  looked  straight  into  my  eyes ; 
and  it  was  not  my  mother. 

“There  was  one  moment  of  blinding 
shock  and  sorrow,  and  I gave  a great 
sob,  and  would  have  risen  in  bed,  but 
her  hand  held  me  down,  and  I seized  it 
with  both  my  own,  and  still  looked  in 
her  eyes.  It  was  not  my  mother,  and 
yet  was  there  ever  such  a mother’s  face 
as  that  ? I seemed  to  be  looking  into 
depths  of  indescribable  tenderness  and 
strength,  and  I leaned  on  that  strength  in 


92  The  Light  Invisible 

those  moments  of  misery.  I gave  another 
sob  or  two  as  I looked,  but  I was  quieter, 
and  at  last  peace  came  to  me,  and  I had 
learnt  my  lesson. 

“ I did  not  at  the  time  know  who  she 
was,  but  my  little  soul  dimly  saw  that  my 
own  mother  for  some  reason  could  not  at 
that  time  come  to  me  who  needed  her  so 
sorely,  and  that  another  great  Mother  had 
taken  her  place  ; yet,  after  the  first  moment 
or  so,  I felt  no  anger  or  jealousy,  for  one 
who  had  looked  into  that  kindly  face  could 
have  no  such  unworthy  thought. 

“ Then  I lifted  my  head  a little,  I re- 
member, and  kissed  the  hand  that  I held 
in  my  own,  reverently  and  slowly.  I do 
not  know  why  I did  it,  except  that  it  was 
the  natural  thing  to  do.  The  hand  was 
strong  and  vhite,  and  delicately  fragrant. 
Then  it  was  withdrawn,  and  she  was 
standing  by  the  door,  and  the  door  was 
open  ; and  then  she  was  gone,  and  the 
door  was  closed. 

“ I have  never  seen  her  since,  but  I have 


“ Consolatrix  Afflictorum  ” 93 

never  needed  to  see  her,  for  I know  who 
she  is  ; and,  please  God,  I shall  see  her 
again ; and  next  time  I hope  my  mother 
and  I will  be  together ; and  perhaps  it  will 
not  be  very  long;  and  perhaps  she  will  allow 
me  to  kiss  her  hand  again. 

“ Now,  my  dear  sir,  I do  not  know  how 
all  this  will  appear  to  you  ; it  may  seem  to 
you,  though  I do  not  think  it  will,  merely 
childish.  Yet,  in  a sense,  I desire  nothing 
more  than  that,  for  our  Saviour  Himself 
told  us  to  be  like  children,  and  our  Saviour 
too  once  lay  on  His  Mother’s  breast.  I 
know  that  I am  getting  an  old  man,  and 
that  old  men  are  sometimes  very  foolish  ; 
but  it  more  and  more  seems  to  me  that 
experience,  as  well  as  His  words,  tells  me 
that  the  great  Kingdom  of  Heaven  has  a 
low  and  narrow  door  that  only  little  chil- 
dren can  enter,  and  that  we  must  become 
little  again,  and  drop  all  our  bundles,  if  we 
would  go  through. 

“That,  dear  and  Reverend  Sir,  is  my 
story.  And  may  I ask  you  to  remember 


94  The  Light  Invisible 

me  sometimes  at  the  altar  and  in  your 
prayers  ? for  surely  God  will  ask  much 
from  one  to  whom  He  has  given  so  much, 
and  as  yet  I have  nothing  to  show  for  it  ; 
and  my  time  must  be  nearly  at  an  end, 
even  if  His  infinite  patience  is  not. 

“ Believe  me, 

u Yours  faithfully, 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream 


“ Lo,  I am  free  ! I choose  the  pain  thou  bearest : 
Thou  art  the  messenger  of  one  who  waits  ; 
Thou  wilt  reveal  the  hidden  face  thou  wearest. 
When  my  feet  falter  at  the  Eternal  Gates.” 

Old  Foes. 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream 


We  were  at  tea  one  afternoon  on  the  little 
low,  tiled  platform  that  marked  the 
site  of  an  old  summer-house.  Tall  hurdles 
covered  with  briar-roses  on  the  further  side 
of  the  path  fenced  off  the  rest  of  the 
garden  from  us,  and  the  sun  had  just  sunk 
below  the  level  of  the  house,  throwing 
both  ourselves  and  the  garden  into  cool 
shadow.  The  servant  had  brought  out 
the  tea-things,  but  he  presently  returned 
with  something  of  horror  on  his  face.  The 
old  man  looked  up  and  saw  him. 

“ What  is  it,  Parker?  " he  asked. 


98  The  Light  Invisible 

“ There’s  been  an  accident,  sir.  Tom 
Awcock  at  the  home  farm  has  been  drawn 
into  some  machine,  and  they  say  he  must 
lose  both  arms,  and  maybe  his  life.” 

The  old  nmn  turned  quite  white,  and  his 
eyes  grew  larger  and  brighter. 

“ Is  the  doctor  with  him  ? ” he  asked,  in 
a perfectly  steady  voice. 

“ Yes,  sir,  and  they’ve  sent  a message, 
Would  you  be  good  enough  to  step  down? 
The  rector’s  away,  and  Tom’s  mother’s 
crying  terrible.  But  not  yet,  sir.  About 
seven  o’clock,  they  say.  It  won’t  be  over 
till  then,  and  there’s  no  immediate  danger.” 

“ Tell  them  I will  be  there  at  seven,” 
said  the  clergyman. 

Parker  went  back  to  the  house,  and 
presently  we  heard  the  footsteps  of  a 
child  running  down  the  drive  towards  the 
farm. 

“ How  shocking  it  is!”  I said  in  a moment 
or  two. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  old  man,  smiling,  “ I 
have  learnt  my  lesson.  It  is  not  really  so 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream  99 

shocking  as  you  think.  Does  that  sound 
very  hard  ? ” 

I said  nothing,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that 
all  the  consolations  of  religion  could  not 
soften  the  horror  of  such  things.  If  such 
agonies  are  necessary  as  remedies  or  atone- 
ments, at  least  they  are  terrible. 

“ I learnt  my  lesson,”  the  old  man  went 
on,  “ down  the  road  there  outside  the 
hedge — down  by  the  bridge.  Would  you 
like  to  hear  it  ? Or  are  you  tired  of  an  old 
dreamer’s  stories  ? ” and  he  smiled  at  me. 

“ Now  I know  you  think  that  I am  hard 
— that  I am  a little  apart  maybe  from 
human  life — that  I cannot  understand  the 
blind  misery  of  those  who  suffer  in  igno- 
rance ; yet  you  would  be  the  first,  I believe, 
to  think  that  Mrs.  Awcock’s  consolations 
are  unreal,  and  that  when  she  tells  me  that 
she  knows  there  is  a wise  purpose  behind, 
she  is  only  repeating  what  is  proper  to 
say  to  a clergyman.  But  that  is  not  so; 
that  old  threadbare  sentence  is  intensely 
real  to  these  people,  and,  I hope,  to  myself 


IOO 


The  Light  Invisible 

too.  For  there  is  nothing  that  I desire 
more  than  to  be  a child  like  them.  It  is 
the  apparent  purposelessness  that  distresses 
you : it  is  the  certainty  of  a deliberate  pur- 
pose that  comforts  me.  Well,  shall  I tell 
you  what  I saw  ? ” 

I was  a little  distressed  at  what  looked 
like  callousness,  but  I told  him  I would 
like  to  hear  the  story. 

“ I was  standing  one  evening — it  would 
be  about  five  years  ago — in  the  field  down 
there  near  the  stream.  You  remember  the 
bridge  there,  over  which  the  road  goes, 
just  outside  the  hedge.  I love  running 
water,  and  I went  slowly  up  and  down  by 
the  side  of  the  beck.  There  were  children 
on  the  road,  coming  back  from  school, 
and  they  stopped  on  the  bridge  to  look  at 
the  water,  as  children  and  old  men  will. 
They  did  not  see  me,  as  the  field  is  a little 
below  the  road,  and  besides  their  backs 
were  turned  to  me.  I could  see  a pink 
frock  or  two,  and  a pair  of  stout  bare  legs. 
Two  girls  were  taking  their  brother  home 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream  ioi 

— he  was  between  them,  a hand  clasped 
by  each  of  the  sisters.  I suppose  the 
eldest  girl  would  be  about  nine,  and  the 
boy  five.  They  were  talking  solemnly, 
and  I could  hear  every  word. 

“ Why  are  children  always  supposed  to 
be  gay  ? There  is  no  solemnity  in  the 
world  to  be  compared  to  the  solemnity  of 
a little  boy,  or  of  his  sister  who  has  charge 
of  him. 

“ One  of  the  girls  said,  ‘ Look,  Johnny, 
there  are  little  fishes  down  there.’ 

“ ‘ When  I am  a man’ Johnny  began} 

very  slowly. 

“ ‘ Look,  Johnny,’  said  the  other  girl, 
1 there’s  a blue  flower.’ 

“ Up  to  this  I remember  every  word. 
But  then  I began  to  watch  Johnny. 

“ The  girls  went  on  talking,  but  they 
leaned  over  more,  and  I could  not  hear 
them  plainly.  Johnny  stealthily  withdrew 
a hand  from  each  of  his  sisters,  and  began 
to  look  for  a stone  to  throw  at  the  fishes 
or  the  blue  flower,  I suppose  ; for  man  is 


102 


The  Light  Invisible 

lord  of  Creation.  I could  see  him  presently 
through  the  hedge  digging  patiently  with 
his  fingers  and  loosening  a stone  that  was 
firm  in  the  road.  And  at  that  moment  I 
heard  a far-away  shout  and  the  distant  bark 
of  a dog. 

“ The  evening  was  wonderfully  still: 
every  leaf  hung  quiet : and  there  were  far-off 
clouds  heaping  themselves  up  in  the  west, 
tower  over  tower.  We  had  a thunderstorm 
that  night,  I remember.  The  brook  was 
quiet,  just  slipping  noiselessly  from  pool  to 
pool. 

“ Still  Johnny  was  digging  and  the  girls 
were  talking.  Then  out  of  the  village 
above  us  came  again  far-off  noises.  I could 
hear  a rumble  .and  the  clatter  of  hoofs, 
then  a cry  or  two  more,  and  the  nearer 
terrified  yelp  of  a dog.  But  the  girls  were 
intent  on  the  brook — and  Johnny  on  the 
stone. 

“ Even  now  I did  not  understand  what 
was  happening  : but  I grew  uneasy — and 
with  great  difficulty,  for  I was  an  old  man 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream  103 

even  then,  tried  to  scramble  up  the  high 
bank  by  the  bridge.  As  I reached  the  top 
I saw  that  one  of  the  girls  had  gone.  She 
had  run,  I suppose,  off  the  bridge  down  by 
the  side  of  the  road.  The  other  girl  was 
still  standing — but  looking  in  a frightened 
way  up  the  hill.  Down  the  hill  came  the 
loud  rumble  of  a cart  and  the  clatter  of 
hoofs,  terribly  near. 

“ The  girl  by  the  side  of  the  road  began 
to  scream  to  her  sister,  who  darted  off,  and 
then  remembered  Johnny  and  turned. 
Johnny  got  up  too  and  ran  to  the  parapet 
and  stood  against  it. 

“ I was  shouting  too  by  now,  through 
the  hedge  : but  I could  do  nothing  more, 
nothing  more,  because  the  hedge  was  high 
and  thick,  and  I was  an  old  man.  Then 
in  a moment  I remembered  that  shouting 
would  only  distract  them,  and  I stopped. 
It  was  useless.  I could  do  absolutely 
nothing.  But  it  was  very  hard. 

“ Then  I saw  the  galloping  body  of  a 
horse  through  the  branches,  with  a butcher’s 


104  The  Light  Invisible 

cart  that  rocked  behind  him.  There  was 
no  one  on  the  cart. 

“ Now  there  was  room  for  the  cart  to 
pass  the  boy  safely.  By  the  wheelmarks, 
which  I looked  at  afterwards,  there  were 
three  clear  feet — if  only  the  boy  had  stood 
still. 

“The  girls  seemed  petrified  as  they 
stood,  one  in  act  to  run,  the  other  crouching 
and  hiding  her  face  against  the  hedge.  The 
cart  was  now  within  ten  yards,  as  I could 
see,  though  I was  still  staring  at  Johnny. 
Then  this  is  what  I saw. 

u Somewhere  behind  him  over  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge  there  was  a figure.  I re- 
member nothing  about  it  except  the  face 
and  the  hands.  The  face  was,  I think,  the 
tenderest  I have  ever  seen.  The  eyes  were 
downcast,  looking  upon  the  boy’s  head  with 
indescribable  love,  the  lips  were  smiling. 
One  hand  was  over  the  boy’s  eyes,  the 
other  against  his  shoulder  behind.  In  a 
moment  the  memory  of  other  stories  I 
had  heard  came  to  mind — and  I gave  a 


The  Bridge  over  the  Stream  105 

sob  of  relief  that  the  boy  was  safe  in  such 
care. 

“But  as  the  iron  hoofs  and  rocking 
wheels  came  up,  the  hand  on  the  boy’s 
shoulder  suddenly  pushed  him  to  meet 
them ; and  yet  those  tender  eyes  and  mouth 
never  flinched,  and  the  child  took  a step 
forward  in  front  of  the  horse,  and  was 
beaten  down  without  a cry : and  tne  cart 
lurched  heavily,  righted  itselfj  and  dashed 
on  out  of  sight. 

“ When  the  cloud  of  dust  had  passed, 
the  little  body  lay  quiet  on  the  road,  and 
the  two  girls  were  clinging  to  one  another, 
screaming  and  sobbing,  but  there  was 
nothing  else. 

“ I was  as  angry  at  first  as  an  old  man 
could  be.  I nearly  (may  He  forgive  me 
for  it  now ! ) cursed  God  and  died.  But  the 
memory  of  that  tender  face  did  its  work. 
It  was  as  the  face  of  a mother  who  nurses 
her  first-born  child,  as  the  face  of  a child 
who  kisses  a wounded  creature,  it  was  as  I 
think  the  Father’s  Face  itself  must  have 


106  The  Light  Invisible 

been,  which  those  angels  always  behold,  as 
He  looked  down  upon  the  Sacrifice  of  His 
only  Son. 

“ Will  you  forgive  me  now  if  I seemed 
hard  a few  minutes  ago  ? Perhaps  you 
still  think  it  was  hardness  that  made  me 
speak  as  I did.  But,  for  myself,  I hope  I 
may  call  it  by  a better  name  than  that.” 


In  the  Convent  Chapel 


“ In  her  all  longings  mix  and  meet ; 

Dumb  souls  through  her  are  eloquent  ; 
She  feels  the  earth  beneath  her  feet 
Vibrate  in  passionate  intent  ; 

Through  her  our  tides  of  feeling  roll 
And  find  their  God  within  her  soul.” 

The  Contemplative  Soul. 


In  the  Convent  Chapel 


One  evening  about  this  time,  on  coming 
indoors  for  tea,  I found  the  old  man 
seated  at  the  open  door  that  looked  on  to 
the  lawn,  with  a book  on  his  knees,  and  his 
finger  between  the  pages.  He  held  the 
book  towards  me  as  I came  near  him,  and 
showed  me  the  title,  “ The  Interior  Castle.” 
“ I have  just  been  reading,”  he  said, 
“ Saint  Teresa’s  description  of  the  difference 
between  the  intellectual  and  the  imaginative 
vision.  It  is  curious  how  she  fails  really 
to  express  it,  except  to  any  one  who  happens 
to  have  had  a glimpse  already  for  himself 


I 10 


The  Light  Invisible 

of  what  she  means.  I suppose  it  is  one  of 
the  signs  of  reality  in  the  spiritual  world 
that  no  one  can  ever  describe  so  much  as 
he  knows.” 

I sat  down. 

“ I am  afraid  I don’t  understand  a word 
you  are  saying,”  I answered  smiling. 

For  answer  he  opened  the  book  and  read 
Saint  Teresa’s  curious  gasping  incoherent 
sentences — at  least  so  I thought  them. 

“ Still,”  I said,  “ I am  afraid ” 

“ Oh,”  he  said  almost  impatiently, 
“ surely  you  know  now ; indeed  you  know 
it,  but  do  not  recognise  it.” 

“ Can  you  give  me  any  sort  of  instance?” 
I asked. 

He  thought  for  a moment  or  two  in 

silence;  and  then 

“ I think  I can,”  he  said,  “ if  you  are 
sure  it  will  not  bore  you.” 

He  poured  out  tea  for  us  both,  and 
then  began: 

“ Most  of  the  tales  I have  told  you  are 
of  the  imaginative  vision,  by  which  1 do 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  1 1 1 

not  mean  that  the  vision  is  in  any  way  un- 
real or  untrue,  which  is  what  most  people 
mean  by  ‘ imaginative,’  but  only  that  it 
presents  itself  in  the  form  of  a visible 
picture.  It  seems  chiefly  the  function  of 
the  imagination  to  visualise  facts,  and  it  is 
an  abuse  of  that  faculty  to  employ  it  chiefly 
in  visualising  fancies.  But  it  is  possible 
for  spiritual  facts  to  represent  themselves 
vividly  and  clearly  to  the  intellect  instead, 
so  that  the  person  to  whom  the  intellectual 
vision  is  given  does  not,  so  to  speak,  * see  ’ 
anything,  but  only  ‘ apprehends  ’ something 
to  be  true.  However,  this  will  become 
more  clear  presently. 

“ Some  years  ago  I took  my  annual 
holiday  in  the  form  of  a solitary  walking 
tour.  I will  not  tell  you  where  I went,  as 
there  are  others  concerned  in  this  story 
who  would  dislike  intensely  to  be  publicly 
spoken  of  in  the  way  that  I shall  have  to 
speak  of  them ; but  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  I came  at  last  to  a little  town  towards 
sunset.  My  object  in  coming  to  this  place 


1 12  The  Light  Invisible 

was  to  visit  a convent  of  enclosed  nuns 
whose  reputation  for  holiness  was  very 
great.  I carried  with  me  a letter  of  intro- 
duction to  the  Reverend  Mother,  which  I 
knew  would  admit  me  to  the  chapel.  I 
left  my  bag  at  the  inn,  and  then  walked 
down  to  the  convent,  which  stood  a little 
way  out  of  the  town. 

“ The  lay  sister  who  opened  the  door  to 
me  asked  me  to  come  into  the  parlour 
while  she  told  the  Reverend  Mother  ; and 
after  waiting  a few  minutes  in  the  prim 
room  with  its  bees-waxed  floor  and  its  re- 
ligious engravings  and  objects,  a wonder- 
fully dignified  little  old  lady,  with  a quiet 
wrinkled  face,  came  in  with  my  letter  open 
in  her  hand.  We  talked  a few  minutes 
about  various  things,  and  I had  a glass  of 
cowslip  wine  in  a thick-lipped  wine- 
glass. 

“ She  told  me  that  the  convent  was  a 
very  ancient  foundation,  that  it  had  been 
x country  house  ever  since  the  Dissolution 
of  the  Religious  Houses,  until  about  twenty 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  1 1 3 

years  ago,  when  it  had  been  acquired  for 
the  community.  There  still  remained  of 
the  old  buildings  part  of  the  cloisters,  with 
the  south  transept  of  the  old  church,  which 
was  now  the  chapel ; the  whole,  with  a wall 
or  two,  forming  the  courtyard  through 
which  I had  come.  Behind  the  house  lay 
the  garden,  on  to  which  the  window  of 
the  parlour  looked ; and  as  I sat  I could 
see  a black  cross  or  two  marking  the  nuns’ 
graveyard.  I made  inquiries  as  to  the 
way  the  time  of  the  community  was  spent 
“ * Our  object,’  said  the  old  lady,  ‘ is 
perpetual  intercession  for  sinners.  We 
have  the  great  joy  of  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment amongst  us  in  the  chapel,  and,  except 
during  the  choir  offices  and  Mass,  there  is 
always  a nun  kneeling  before  It.  We  look 
after  one  or  two  ladies  incurably  ill,  who 
have  come  to  end  their  days  with  us,  and 
we  make  our  living  by  embroidery.’ 

“ I asked  how  it  was  that  she  could 
receive  strangers  if  the  order  was  an  en 
closed  one. 


H 


il4  The  Light  Invisible 

“ ‘ The  lay  sisters  and  myself  alone  can 
receive  strangers.  We  find  that  neces- 
sary.* 

“ After  a little  more  talk  I asked  whether 
I might  see  the  chapel,  and  she  took  me  out 
into  the  courtyard  immediately. 

“As  we  walked  across  the  grass  she 
pointed  out  to  me  the  cloisters,  now  built 
up  into  a corridor,  and  the  long  ruined 
wall  of  the  old  nave  which  formed  one  side 
of  the  quadrangle.  A grave-faced  and 
stout  collie  dog  had  joined  us  at  the  door, 
and  we  three  went  together  slowly  towards 
the  door  in  the  centre  of  the  west  wall  of 
the  restored  transept.  The  evening  sun 
lay  golden  on  the  wall  before  us  and  on 
the  ruined  base  of  the  central  tower  of  the 
old  church,  round  which  jackdaws  wheeled 
and  croaked.” 

The  old  priest  broke  off  and  turned  to 
me,  with  his  eyes  burning : 

“ What  a marvellous  thing  the  Religious 
Life  is,”  he  said,  “ and  above  ail  the  Con- 
templative Life  ! Here  were  these  nuns 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  115 

as  no  doubt  they  and  their  younger  sisters 
are  still,  without  one  single  thing  that  in 
the  world’s  opinion  makes  life  worth  living. 
There  is  practically  perpetual  silence,  there 
are  hours  to  be  spent  in  the  chapel,  no 
luxuries,  no  amusements,  no  power  of 
choice,  they  are  always  rather  hungry  and 
rather  tired,  at  the  very  least.  And  yet 
they  are  not  sacrificing  present  happiness 
to  future  happiness,  as  the  world  always 
supposes,  but  they  are  intensely  and  radi- 
antly happy  ‘ now  in  this  present  time.’  I 
don’t  know  what  further  proof  any  one 
wants  of  Who  our  Lord  is  than  that  men 
and  women  find  the  keenest,  and  in  fact 
their  only  joy,  in  serving  Him  and  belong- 
ing to  Him. 

“ Well,  I remember  that  something  of 
this  sort  was  in  my  mind  as  I went  across 
the  courtyard  beside  this  motherly  old  lady 
with  her  happy  quiet  face.  She  had  been 
over  fifty  years  in  Religion,  my  friend  had 
told  me. 

“ At  tbe  door  she  stopped. 


1 1 6 The  Light  Invisible 

“ ‘ I will  not  come  in,’  she  said,  ‘ but  you 
will  find  me  in  the  parlour  when  you  come 
out.’ 

“ And  she  turned  and  went  back,  with 
the  collie  walking  slowly  beside  her,  his 
golden  plumed  tail  raised  high  against  her 
black  habit. 

“ The  door  was  partly  open,  but  a thick 
curtain  hung  beyond.  I pushed  it  quietly 
aside  and  stepped  in.  It  seemed  very 
dark  at  first,  in  contrast  to  the  brilliant 
sunshine  outside  ; but  I presently  saw  that 
I was  kneeling  before  a high  iron-barred 
screen,  in  which  was  no  door.  On  the  left, 
in  the  further  corner  of  the  chapel,  glim- 
mered a blue  light  in  a silver  lamp  before 
a statue  of  our  Lady. 

“ Opposite  me  rose  up  the  steps  before 
the  high  altar  ; but  not  far  away,  because, 
as  you  remember,  the  chapel  had  once  been 
the  transept  of  a church,  and  the  east 
wall,  in  the  centre  of  which  the  high  altar 
stood,  was  longer  than  both  the  south  wall 
where  a second  altar  stood,  and  the  modern 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  117 

brick  wall  that  closed  it  on  the  north.  A 
slender  crucifix  in  black  and  white  and 
six  thin  tapers  rose  above  the  altar,  and 
high  above  stood  the  Tabernacle  closed  by 
a white  silk  curtain,  before  which  flickered 
a tiny  red  spark. 

“ I said  a prayer  or  two,  and  then  I 
noticed  for  the  first  time  a dark  outline 
rising  in  the  centre  of  the  space  before  the 
altar.  For  a moment  I was  perplexed,  and 
then  I saw  that  it  was  the  nun  whose  hour 
it  was  for  intercession.  Her  back  was 
turned  to  me  as  she  knelt  at  the  faldstool, 
and  her  black  veil  fell  in  rigid  lines  on  to 
her  shoulders,  and  mingled  with  her  black 
serge  habit  below.  There  she  knelt  perfectly 
motionless,  praying.  I had  not,  and  have 
not,  a notion  as  to  her  age.  She  might 
have  been  twenty-five  or  seventy. 

“ As  I knelt  there  I thought  deeply, 
wondering  as  to  the  nun’s  age,  how  long 
she  had  been  professed,  when  she  would 
die,  whether  she  was  happy  ; and,  I am 
afraid,  I thought  more  of  her  than  of  Him 


1 1 8 The  Light  Invisible 

Who  was  so  near.  Then  a kind  of  anger 
seized  me,  as  I compared  in  my  mind  the 
life  of  a happy  good  woman  in  the  world 
with  that  of  this  poor  creature.  I pictured 
the  life,  as  one  so  often  sees  it  in  homes,  of 
a mother  with  her  children  growing  up 
about  her,  her  hands  busy  with  healthy 
home  work,  her  life  glorified  by  a good 
man’s  love;  as  she  grows  older,  passing  from 
happy  stage  to  happy  stage,  comforting, 
helping,  sweetening  every  soul  she  meets. 
Was  it  not  for  this  that  women — and  men 
too,  I thought,  rebuking  myself — were 
made  ? Then  think  of  the  sour  life  of  the 
cloister — as  loveless  and  desolate  as  the 
cold  walls  themselves  ! And  even,  I thought, 
even  if  there  is  a strange  peculiar  joy  in  the 
Religious  Life — even  if  there  is  an  absence 
of  sorrows  and  anxieties  such  as  spoil  the 
happiness  of  many  lives  in  the  world — yet, 
after  all,  surely  the  Contemplative  Life  is 
useless  and  barren.  The  Active  Life  may  be 
well  enough,  if  the  prayers  and  the  discipline 
issue  in  greater  efficiency,  it  the  priest  is 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  119 

more  fervent  when  he  ministers  outside, 
and  the  sister  of  charity  more  charitable. 
Yes,  I thought,  the  active  Religious  Life  is 
reasonable  enough  ; but  the  Contempla- 
tive   ! After  all  it  is  essentially  selfish, 

it  is  a sin  against  society.  Possibly  it  was 
necessary  when  the  wickedness  of  the  world 
was  more  fierce,  to  protest  against  it  by  this 
retirement ; but  not  now,  not  now  ! How 
can  the  lump  be  leavened  if  the  leaven  be 
withdrawn  ? How  can  a soul  serve  God 
by  forsaking  the  world  which  He  made  and 
loves  ? ” . . . 

“ And  so,”  said  the  priest,  turning  to 
me  again,  “I  went  on — poor  ignorant  fool ! 
— thinking  that  the  woman  who  knelt  in 
front  of  me  was  less  useful  than  myself, 
and  that  my  words  and  actions  and  sermons 
and  life  did  more  to  advance  God’s  king- 
dom than  her  prayers  ! And  then — then 
— at  the  moment  when  I reached  that 
climax  of  folly  and  pride,  God  was  good  to 
me  and  gave  me  a little  light. 

“ Now,  I do  not  know  how  to  put  it — I 


120 


The  Light  Invisible 

have  never  put  it  into  words  before,  except 
to  myself — but  I became  aware,  in  my 
intellect  alone,  of  one  or  two  clear  facts.  In 
order  to  tell  you  what  those  facts  were  I 
must  use  picture  language  ; but  remember 
they  are  only  translations  or  paraphrases  of 
what  I perceived. 

“ First  I became  aware  suddenly  that 
there  ran  a vital  connection  from  the 
Tabernacle  to  the  woman.  You  may  think 
of  it  as  one  of  those  bands  you  see  in 
machinery  connecting  two  wheels,  so  that 
when  either  wheel  moves  the  other  moves 
too.  Or  you  may  think  of  it  as  an  electric 
wire,  joining  the  instrument  the  telegraph 
operator  uses  with  the  pointer  at  the  other 
end.  At  any  rate  there  was  this  vital 
band  or  wire  of  life. 

Now  in  the  Tabernacle  I became  aware 
that  there  was  a mighty  stirring  and  move- 
ment. Something  within  it  beat  like  a vast 
Heart,  and  the  vibrations  of  each  pulse 
seemed  to  quiver  through  all  the  ground. 
Or  you  may  picture  it  as  the  movement  of  a 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  121 

clear  deep  pool  when  the  basin  that  contains 
it  is  jarred — it  seemed  like  the  movement 
of  circular  ripples  crossing  and  recrossing  in 
swift  thrills.  Or  you  may  think  of  it  as  that 
faint  movement  of  light  and  shade  that 
may  be  seen  in  the  heart  of  a white-hot 
furnace.  Or  again  you  may  picture  it  as 
sound — as  the  sound  of  a high  ship-mast 
with  the  rigging,  in  a steady  wind  ; or  the 
sound  of  deep  woods  in  a July  noon.” 

The  priest’s  face  was  working,  and  his 
hands  moved  nervously. 

“ How  hopeless  it  is,”  he  said,  “ to  ex- 
press all  this  ! Remember  that  all  these 
pictures  are  not  in  the  least  what  I per- 
ceived. They  are  only  grotesque  para- 
phrases of  a spiritual  fact  that  was  shown 
me. 

“ Now  I was  aware  that  there  was  some- 
thing of  the  same  activity  in  the  heart  of 
the  woman,  but  I did  not  know  which  was 
the  controlling  power.  I did  not  know 
whether  the  initiative  sprang  from  the 
Tabernacle  and  communicated  itself  to  the 


122 


The  Light  Invisible 

nun’s  will  ; or  whether  she,  by  bending 
herself  upon  the  Tabernacle,  set  in  motion 
a huge  dormant  power.  It  appeared  to  me 
possible  that  the  solution  lay  in  the  fact 
that  two  wills  co-operated,  each  reacting 
upon  the  other.  This,  in  a kind  of  way, 
appears  to  me  now  true  as  regards  the 
whole  mystery  of  free-will  and  prayer  and 
grace. 

“ At  any  rate  the  union  of  these  two 
represented  itself  to  me,  as  I have  said,  as 
forming  a kind  of  engine  that  radiated 
an  immense  light  or  sound  or  movement. 
And  then  I perceived  something  else  too. 

“ I once  fell  asleep  in  one  of  those  fast 
trains  from  the  north,  and  did  not  awake 
until  we  had  reached  the  terminus.  The 
last  thing  I had  seen  before  falling  asleep 
had  been  ths  quiet  darkening  woods  and 
fields  through  which  we  were  sliding,  and  it 
was  a shock  to  awake  in  the  bright  hum- 
ming terminus  and  to  drive  through  the 
crowded  streets,  under  the  electric  glare 
from  the  lamps  and  windows.  Now  I felt 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  123 

something  of  that  sort  now.  A moment 
ago  I had  fancied  myself  apart  from  move- 
ment and  activity  in  this  quiet  convent ; 
but  I seemed  somehow  to  have  stepped  into 
a centre  of  busy,  rushing  life.  I can 
scarcely  put  the  sensation  more  clearly 
than  that.  I was  aware  that  the  atmo- 
sphere was  charged  with  energy ; great 
powers  seemed  to  be  astir,  and  I to  be 
close  to  the  whirling  centre  of  it  all. 

“ Or  think  of  it  like  this.  Have  you 
ever  had  to  wait  in  a City  office  ? If  you 
have  done  that  you  will  know  how  intense 
quiet  can  coexist  with  intense  activity. 
There  are  quiet  figures  here  and  there 
round  the  room.  Or  it  may  be  there  is 
only  one  such  figure — a great  financier— 
and  he  sitting  there  almost  motionless. 
Yet  you  know  that  every  movement  tingles, 
as  it  were,  out  from  that  still  room  all  over 
the  world.  You  can  picture  to  yourself 
how  people  leap  to  obey  or  to  resist — how 
lives  rise  and  fall,  and  fortunes  are  made 
and  lost,  at  the  gentle  movements  of  this 


124  The  Light  Invisible 

lonely  quiet  man  in  his  office.  Well,  so  it 
was  here.  1 perceived  that  this  black 
figure  knelt  at  the  centre  of  reality  and 
force,  and  with  the  movements  of  her  will 
and  lips  controlled  spiritual  destinies  for 
eternity.  There  ran  out  from  this  peaceful 
chapel  lines  of  spiritual  power  that  lost 
themselves  in  the  distance,  bewildering  in 
their  profusion  and  terrible  in  the  intensity 
of  their  hidden  fire.  Souls  leaped  up  and 
renewed  the  conflict  as  this  tense  will  strove 
for  them.  Souls  even  at  that  moment 
leaving  the  body  struggled  from  death  into 
spiritual  life,  and  fell  panting  and  saved  at 
the  feet  of  the  Redeemer  on  the  other  side 
of  death.  Others,  acquiescent  and  swoon- 
ing in  sin,  woke  and  snarled  at  the  merciful 
stab  of  this  poor  nun’s  prayers.” 

The  priest  was  trembling  now  with  ex- 
citement. 

“Yes,”  he  said;  “yes,  and  I in  my 
stupid  arrogance  had  thought  that  my  life 
was  more  active  in  God’s  world  than  hers. 
So  a small  provincial  shopkeeper,  bustling 


In  the  Convent  Chapel  125 

to  and  fro  behind  the  counter,  might  think, 
if  only  he  were  mad  enough,  that  his  life  was 
more  active  and  alive  than  the  life  of  a 
director  who  sits  at  his  table  in  the  City. 
Yes,  that  is  a vulgar  simile;  but  the  only 
one  that  I can  think  of  which  in  the  least 
expresses  what  I knew  to  be  true.  There 
lay  my  little  foolish  narrow  life  behind 
me,  made  up  of  spiritless  prayers  and 
efforts  and  feeble  dealings  with  souls  ; and 
how  complacent  I had  been  with  it  all,  how 
self-centred,  how  out  of  the  real  tide  of 
spiritual  movement ! And  meanwhile,  for 
years  probably,  this  nun  had  toiled  behind 
these  walls  in  the  silence  of  grace,  with  the 
hum  of  the  world  coming  faintly  to  her 
ears,  and  the  cries  of  peoples  and  nations, 
and  of  persons  whom  the  world  accounts 
important,  sounding  like  the  voices  of  chil- 
dren at  play  in  the  muddy  street  outside; 
and  indeed  that  is  all  that  they  are,  com- 
pared to  her — children  making  mud-pies 
or  playing  at  shop  outside  the  financier’s 
office.” 


126  The  Light  Invisible 

The  priest  was  silent,  and  his  face  be- 
came quieter  again.  Then  in  a moment  he 
spoke  again. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ that  is  what  I believe 
to  have  been  an  intellectual  vision.  There 
was  no  form  or  appearance  or  sound  ; but 
I can  only  express  what  was  shown  to  me 
to  be  true,  under  those  images.  It  almost 
seems  to  me  as  I look  back  now  as  if  the 
air  in  the  chapel  were  full  of  a murmurous 
sound  and  a luminous  mist  as  the  currents 
of  need  and  grace  went  to  and  fro.  But  I 
know  really  that  the  silence  was  deep  and 
the  air  dim.” 

Then  I made  a foolish  remark. 

<(  If  you  feel  like  that  about  the  Con- 
templative Life,  1 wonder  you  did  not  try 
to  enter  it  yourself.” 

The  priest  looked  at  me  for  a moment. 

“ It  would  be  rash,  surely,  for  a little 
shopkeeper  of  no  particular  ability  to  com- 
pete with  Rothschild.” 


Under  Which  King? 


“ All  such  knowledge  as  this, 
whether  it  comes  from  God  or 
not,  can  be  but  of  little  profit 
to  the  soul  in  the  way  of  perfec- 
tion, if  it  trusts  to  it : yea,  rather, 
if  it  is  not  careful  to  reject  it, 

* • • it  will  bring  upon  it  great 
evil ; ...  for  all  the  dangers 
and  inconveniences  of  the  super- 
natural apprehensions,  and  many 
more,  are  to  be  found  here.” 

The  Asce?it  of  Mount  Carmel . 


Under  Which  King? 


ithin  a day  or  two  of  our  conversa- 


tion on  St.  Teresa,  I asked  the  old 
priest  about  what  is  called  “ Quietism.”  A 
friend  had  given  me  an  old  copy  of  Molinos’ 
Spiritual  Guide,  and  I knew  that  the  writer 
had  been  condemned  and  imprisoned  for 
life,  and  yet  I could  not  understand  in  what 
lay  his  crime. 

“ It  is  difficult  to  put  into  words,”  said 
the  priest,  “or  even  to  understand,  why 
certain  sentences  are  condemned,  since  it  is 
probably  possible  to  parallel  them  from 
other  Catholic  mystics  whose  names  are 


x 


130  The  Light  Invisible 

honoured.  Yet  the  fact  remains  that  the 
result  of  Molinos’  teaching  was  neglect  of 
the  Sacraments  and  of  external  means  of 
grace,  which  was  not  so  in  the  case  of  the 
schools  of  other  mystics.” 

“ But  I will  tell  you  a story,”  he  went 
on,  “ to  illustrate  the  effect  of  certain  kinds 
of  mysticism;  and  I must  leave  you  to 
judge  whether  my  friend  was  right  or 
wrong  in  what  he  decided,  for  I must  tell 
you  first  that  the  incident  did  not  happen 
to  me.  On  the  whole  I may  say  that  I 
have  my  own  opinion  on  the  subject,  but  I 
will  not  tell  you  what  it  is,  as  sometimes  I 
am  strongly  inclined  to  change  it.  How- 
ever, you  shall  hear  the  story.  Shall  we 
take  a stroll  on  the  terrace  ? ” 

And  when  we  had  reached  it,  he 
began  : 

“ My  friend  was  a priest  of  about  thirty 
years  of  age  (this  happened  some  forty 
years  ago).  He  was  working  in  the  country 
at  the  time,  and  had  a great  deal  of  leisure 
for  reading,  and  this  he  chiefly  occupied  in 


Under  Which  King?  131 

the  study  of  various  mystics,  and  most  of 
them  of  the  Quietistic  school.  You  know, 
too,  that  one  of  their  characteristic  lines  of 
thought  lies  in  the  abandonment  of  all 
effort  save  that  of  adhering  to  God,  and 
even  that  is  to  be  a passive  rather  than  an 
active  effort.  The  soul  must  lie  still,  says 
one  of  them,  and  be  drawn  as  if  by  a 
rope  up  the  Mount  of  Perfection.  The 
slightest  movement  will  check  or  divert 
that  swift  and  steady  approach  towards 
God. 

“ But  my  friend  not  only  studied  writers 
of  this  school  intellectually,  but  he  put 
himself  more  or  less  under  their  spiritual 
direction.  He  told  me  afterwards  that  it 
seemed  to  him  that  if  he  used  the  Sacra- 
ments faithfully,  and  if  he  found  that  his 
devotion  towards  them  did  not  cool,  he 
would  be  sufficiently  protected  against 
possible  extravagances  or  heresies  in  his 
spiritual  reading.  His  daily  meditation, 
too,  he  told  me,  began  to  mean  more  to 
him  than  ever  in  his  lifetime:  the  presence 


132  The  Light  Invisible 

of  God  seemed  more  real  and  accessible, 
and,  above  all,  the  guidance  of  God  in  his 
daily  life  more  apparent.  The  time  that 
really  matters,  as  he  said  to  me  once,  is  the 
time  between  our  religious  exercises ; and  in 
this  time,  too,  God  manifested  Himself.  In 
fact,  from  all  that  he  said  to  me,  I have  very 
little  doubt  that  his  character  and  spiritual 
life  were  both  deepened  and  purified,  at  any 
rate  at  first,  by  his  devotional  study  of 
these  mystics. 

“ One  word  more  before  I begin  the 
actual  story. 

“ I said  just  now  that  the  guidance  of 
God  began  to  be  more  apparent  in  his  daily 
life.  There  are  two  main  ways  of  settling 
questions  that  come  up  for  decision,  and 
both  ways  are  possible  to  a religious  man. 
One  way  is  to  lay  stress  on  the  intellectual 
side,  to  weigh  the  arguments  carefully,  and 
decide,  as  it  were,  by  reasoning  alone  : the 
other  is  to  lay  comparatively  little  stress  on 
the  arguments  and  the  intellectual  side  gene- 
rally, and  to  make  the  main  effort  lie  in  the 


Under  Which  King?  133 

aspiration  of  the  will  towards  God  for  guid- 
ance. We  may  call  them,  roughly,  the  intel- 
lectual and  the  intuitive.  Now  of  course  my 
friend’s  mystical  studies  inclined  him  more 
and  more  towards  the  latter.  He  told  me, 
in  fact,  that  in  the  most  ordinary  questions 
-—in  his  visiting  his  people — in  his  preach- 
ing— in  his  dealings  with  souls — he  began 
more  and  more  to  refuse  intellectual  light, 
and  to  trust  instead  to  the  immediate  in- 
terior guidance  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  More 
than  once,  for  example,  he  laid  aside  the 
sermon  he  had  prepared,  as  he  entered  the 
pulpit,  and  preached  from  a text  that  had 
seemed  to  be  suggested  to  him.  Of  course 
it  was  not  so  good  from  the  literary  point 
of  view;  but  that,  as  he  very  justly  said, 
is  not  the  most  important  question  in 
judging  of  a sermon.  He  seemed  to  find, 
he  told  me,  that  his  spiritual  power  in  every 
way  developed,  both  in  his  interior  life  and 
in  his  dealings  with  others. 

“ In  his  conversations,  too,  he  would 
allow  long  silences  to  come,  if  it  did  not 


134  The  Light  Invisible 

seem  to  him  that  God  moved  him  to  speak; 
at  other  times  he  would  drop  conventional 
modes  of  speech  and  say  things  that, 
humanly  judged,  were  calculated  to  do  the 
very  opposite  of  what  he  personally  desired. 
Sometimes  in  such  a case  his  wish  was 
attained,  and  sometimes  not;  but  in  both 
cases  he  forced  himself  to  regard  it  as  if  he 
had  succeeded.  In  short,  he  acted  and 
spoke  in  obedience  to  this  interior  drawing, 
and  disregarded  consequences  entirely.  And 
this,  I need  hardly  say,  is  one  road  to  in- 
terior peace. 

“ And  then  at  last  a startling  thing 
happened. 

“ There  had  been  some  crime  committed: 
I have  not  an  idea  what  it  was.  Two  men 
were  involved  in  the  consequences.  One, 
whom  we  will  call  A.,  had  committed  the 
crime:  but  he  could  only  be  prosecuted  if 
B.,  whom  he  had  seriously  injured,  con- 
sented to  take  action.  Now  my  friend  was 
deeply  interested  in  A.,  and  he  thought  he 
knew  that  the  one  chance  of  A.’s  salvation 


Under  Which  King?  135 

lay  in  his  being  allowed  to  go  unpunished. 
But  Lord  B.,  who,  by  the  way,  was  an  Irish 
peer,  of  no  importance  himself,  though 
his  father  had  been  well  known,  was  a hard, 
vindictive  man,  and  had  publicly  announced 
his  intention  of  ruining  A.  In  this  state 
of  affairs  my  friend  was  asked  to  intercede 
by  A.  and  his  friends. 

“ Lord  B.  lived  in  a large  country-house 
some  four  or  five  miles  from  my  friend’s 
house.  He  was  an  unmarried  man,  but 
generally  had  his  house  fairly  full  of  his 
friends,  who  did  not  bear  the  best  possible 
reputation. 

“ My  friend  arrived  at  the  house  by 
appointment  with  B.,  whom  he  did  not 
personally  know,  towards  the  close  of  a 
rainy  autumn  afternoon.  In  spite  of  his 
anxiety  he  had  resolved  to  be  guided  as 
usual  by  the  interior  monitor  whom  he  had 
learnt  to  trust,  and  he  had  hardly  thought 
of  a single  argument  which  he  could  use. 
Yet  he  felt  confident  that  he  was  right  in 
coming,  and  equally  confident  that  he  would 


136  The  Light  Invisible 

know  what  to  say  when  the  time  came.  As 
he  got  near  the  house  this  confident  sense  of 
guidance  increased  to  an  extent  that  almost 
terrified  him.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he 
walked  under  the  dripping  yellow  branches, 
that  a strong,  almost  physical,  oppression 
carried  him  forward.  As  if  in  a dream  he 
saw  the  manservant  appear  in  answer  to  his 
ring,  and  heard,  as  from  a great  distance, 
the  man  tell  him  that  Lord  B.  had  come 
in  a little  while  before,  and  was  now  expect- 
ing him  in  the  smoking-room. 

“ On  entering  the  house  these  curious 
sensations,  which  he  hardly  attempted  to 
describe  to  me,  seemed  to  diminish  a little, 
and  he  felt  cool  and  confident.  He  told 
me  that  the  sense  of  oppression  resting  on 
him  was  dispelled,  as  if  by  a breeze,  as  he 
passed  along  the  corridor  on  the  ground 
floor  on  his  way  to  the  smoking-room  in 
the  west  wing  of  the  house. 

“ The  servant  threw  open  the  door  and 
announced  him,  and  my  friend  went 
through,  and  the  door  closed  behind  him: 


Under  Which  King?  137 

but  the  moment  he  had  crossed  the  thres- 
hold he  felt  that  something  was  wrong. 

“ There  was  a circle  of  men,  some  in 
shooting  costume,  and  some  as  if  they  had 
not  been  out  all  day,  sitting  in  easy  chairs 
round  the  fire,  which  was  to  the  right  of 
the  door.  My  friend  could  see  most  of 
their  faces,  and  Lord  B.’s  face  among  them, 
as  he  paused  at  the  door;  but  not  one 
offered  to  move,  though  all  looked  curiously 
at  him. 

“ There  was  silence  for  a moment,  and 
then  Lord  B.  said  suddenly  and  loudly: 

“ ‘ Well,  here’s  the  parson  at  last,  sermon 
and  all.’ 

“And  then  two  or  three  of  the  men 
laughed. 

“ My  friend  saw  of  course  that  Lord  B. 
had  arranged  the  interview  in  this  way  simply 
in  order  to  insult  him,  and  that  he  would  not 
be  able  to  speak  to  him  in  private  at  all,  as 
he  had  hoped.  There  was,  he  told  me,  just 
one  great  heave  of  anger  in  his  heart  at 
this  offensive  behaviour;  but  he  did  his  best 


138  The  Light  Invisible 

to  crush  it  down,  and  still  stood  without 
speaking.  He  had  not,  he  said,  an  idea 
what  to  say  or  do,  so  he  stood  and  waited. 

“ Lord  B.  got  up  in  a moment  and  lit  a 
cigarette  with  his  back  to  my  friend ; and 
then  turned  and  faced  him,  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece. 

“ ‘ Well,’  he  said,  * we’re  all  waiting.’ 

“ Still  there  was  silence.  One  of  the 
men  beyond  the  fire  suddenly  laughed. 

“ ‘ Now  then,’  said  Lord  B.  impatiently, 
“ for  God’s  sake  say  what  you  came  to  say, 
and  go.’ 

“ As  this  sentence  ended  my  friend  felt 
a curious  sensation  run  over  him,  like  those 
he  had  experienced  in  the  park,  but  far 
stronger.  He  could  never  give  me  any 
description  of  it,  except  by  saying  that  it 
seemed  as  if  a force  were  laying  hold  of 
him  in  every  remote  fibre  of  his  bodily  and 
spiritual  being.  His  own  will  seemed  to 
give  up  the  control  into  some  stronger  hand, 
and  he  felt  a sense  of  being  steadied  and 
quieted. 


Under  Which  King?  139 

“ Then  he  was  aware  that  his  own  voice 
said  a single  sentence  of  some  half-dozen 
words  ; but  though  he  heard  each  word,  it 
was  instantly  obliterated  from  his  mind. 
In  his  description  of  it  all  to  me  afterwards, 
he  said  it  was  like  words  that  we  hear 
immediately  before  we  fall  asleep  in  a 
lecture-room  or  a railway  carriage:  each 
word  is  English  and  intelligible,  but  the 
sentence  conveys  no  impression. 

“While  his  voice  spoke  for  perhaps  two  or 
three  seconds,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Lord 
B.’s  face,  and  in  that  momentary  interval 
he  saw  a terrible  fear  and  astonishment  sud- 
denly stamped  upon  it.  The  mouth  opened 
in  loose  lines  and  the  cigarette  fell  out,  and 
B.’s  hands  rose  instinctively  as  if  to  keep 
my  friend  off".  One  of  the  men,  too,  at  the 
further  end  of  the  circle  suddenly  sprang 
erect,  with  the  same  kind  of  imploring 
horror  on  his  face. 

“ That  was  all  that  my  friend  had  time  to 
see ; for  the  same  power  that  had  laid  hold 
of  him  turned  him  immediately  to  the 


140  The  Light  Invisible 

door,  and  he  opened  it  and  went  out  and 
down  the  corridor.  As  he  went  the 
strange  sensation  passed,  but  he  felt  the 
sweat  prick  to  his  skin  and  then  pour 
down  his  face.  He  heard,  too,  as  he 
reached  the  end  of  the  corridor,  a beli  peal 
violently  somewhere.  He  passed  out  into 
the  hall,  and  even  as  he  opened  the  front 
door  a servant  dashed  past  him  through 
the  hall  and  down  the  corridor,  up  which 
he  had  just  come. 

“ He  went  straight  home,  feeling  terribly 
tired  and  overwrought,  and  had  to  go  to 
bed  on  reaching  his  house,  tortured  by 
neuralgia. 

“ Two  hours  later  a note  was  brought  by 
a groom  from  Lord  B.,  written  in  a shaking 
hand,  with  an  abject  apology  for  his 
reception  in  the  afternoon  ; an  entreaty  to 
him  not  to  mention  the  subject  again 
which  he  had  spoken  of  in  the  sitting-room, 
with  a scarcely  veiled  offer  of  a bribe,  and 
an  emphatic  promise  to  withdraw  all  pro- 
ceedings against  A. 


Under  Which  King?  141 

“ On  the  following  day  he  was  told  that 
Lord  B.  was  supposed  to  be  unwell,  and 
that  the  house-party  had  been  hurriedly 
broken  up  the  night  before. 

“ From  that  day  to  this  he  has  never 
had  an  idea  of  what  the  sentence  was 
that  his  voice  spoke  that  worked  such  a 
miracle.” 

“ That  is  a most  curious  story,”  I said. 
“ What  do  you  make  of  it  ? ” 

The  priest  smiled. 

“ I will  tell  you  what  my  friend  made 
of  it.  He  gave  up  his  study  of  mysticism, 
yet  without  in  any  sense  condemning  that 
line  of  thought  of  which  I have  spoken. 
His  reasons,  which  he  explained  to  me 
after  coming  to  a decision,  were  that  such 
a visitation  might  or  might  not  be  from 
God.  If  it  were  not  from  God,  then  that 
proved  that  he  had  been  meddling  with 
high  things,  and  had  somehow  slipped 
under  some  other  control.  If  it  were 
from  God,  it  might  be  that  it  was  just 
for  that  very  purpose  that  he  had  been 


142  The  Light  Invisible 

brought  so  far,  but  that  he  dared  not 
pursue  that  path  without  some  distinct 
further  sign.  ‘ In  any  case,’  he  said,  ‘ no 
soul  can  be  lost  by  following  the  simple 
and  well-beaten  path  of  ordinary  devo- 
tion and  prayer.’  And  so  he  returned 
to  intellectual  forms  of  meditation,  such 
as  most  Christians  use.  He  died  a few 
years  ago,  full  of  holiness  and  good 
works. 

“But  for  you  there  are  several  opinions 
open.  Either  that  it  was  an  intensely 
strong  case  of  hypnotic  thought-trans- 
ference from  Lord  B.  to  my  friend,  and 
that  the  latter  only  spoke  mechanically  of 
something  that  lay  in  the  former’s  mind; 
or  you  may  decide  that  the  whole  affair 
was  of  the  Evil  One,  and  that  A.  would 
have  been  all  the  better  for  prosecution, 
and  that  an  evil  being  somehow  found 
entrance  into  the  strained  nature  of  my 
friend,  and  used  it  for  his  own  purposes ; 
or  that  the  prophetic  gift  was  bestowed  on 
him.  but  that  the  ordeal  was  too  fierce 


Under  Which  King?  143 

and  he  too  cowardly  to  claim  it.  , A.nd 
there  are  other  solutions  as  well,  no  doubt 
possible. 

“ For  myself  I think  I have  formed  my 
opinion  ; but  I would  prefer,  as  Herodotus 
says,  to  keep  it  to  myself.” 


With  Dyed  Garments 


“ Jesu,  well  ought  I love  Thee, 

For  Thou  me  shewest  Thy  rood-tree, 

Thy  crown  of  thorns,  and  nails  three, 

The  sharp  spear  that  pierced  Thee.” 

Swete  Jhesu  now  wil  I Synge. 


With  Dyed  Garments 


hen  the  second  post  came  in  one 


morning  I saw  a letter  addressed 
to  the  priest,  in  the  trembling  large  cha- 
racters of  an  old  man’s  hand,  lying  upon 
the  slab  in  the  hall.  When  I came  in  to 
lunch  I found  the  old  clergyman  with  an 
open  letter  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  full  of 
almost  childish  happiness. 

“ I have  heard  from  my  oldest  friend,” 
he  said,  making  a little  movement  with  the 
letter.  “ It  is  months  since  he  has  written. 
I have  known  him  ever  since  we  were 
boys.” 


148  The  Light  Invisible 

We  sat  down  to  lunch,  but  he  kept  on 
referring  to  his  friend,  and  to  the  pleasure 
the  letter  gave  him. 

“ We  are  always  planning  to  meet,’*  he 
said  to  me  presently.  “ But  we  never  can 
manage  it.  We  are  both  so  old.  He  is 
much  more  active  than  I am,  however. 
He  is  full  of  good  works,  while  I,  as 
you  know,  lead  an  idle  life.  I could 
not  take  charge  of  a church.  It  is  all  I 
can  do  now  to  serve  my  own  little  chapel 
upstairs.” 

“ Where  is  he  working  ? ” I asked. 

“ I think  perhaps  you  fancy  he  is  in 
Holy  Orders,  but  he  is  not.  He  has  been 
on  the  Stock  Exchange  till  a few  years  ago, 
and  now  he  is  living  in  the  country,  getting 
ready  to  die,  as  he  tells  me.  But  he  is  full 
of  good  works  ; his  letter  here  has  news 
about  the  village,  and  of  a man  whose 
acquaintance  he  has  made  in  the  reading- 
room  there,  which  he  himself  built  a year 
ago;  but  he  is  full  of  plans  too,  and  asks 
my  advice.” 


With  Dyed  Garments  149 

“ It  is  not  often  you  come  across  a 
business  man  like  that,”  I said. 

“ No,  he  is  wonderful,  but  he  has  been 
like  that  for  years.  He  has  done  a great 
deal  all  his  life  among  poor  people  in 
London.  For  years  he  never  missed  his 
two  or  three  nights  a week  in  some  club, 
or  on  some  committee,  or  visiting  sick 
people.” 

I began  to  think  that  it  might  have  been 
through  the  friendship  of  the  priest  that 
this  man  had  been  such  a worker.  But 
presently  he  began  again. 

“ Perhaps  the  most  wonderful  thing  was 
the  way  he  first  began  to  do  such  work. 
Let  me  see,  have  I mentioned  his  name  ? 
Nc  ? Then  I can  tell  you,  otherwise  it 
would  not  be  discreet;  that  is — ” he  added, 
“ if  you  would  care  to  hear.” 

I told  him  I should  be  very  much 
interested. 

“Then  after  lunch  we  will  have  coffee 
in  the  garden,  and  I will  tell  you.” 

When  we  had  sat  down  under  the  shade 


150  The  Light  Invisible 

of  a wall,  with  the  tall  avenue  of  pines 
opposite  us  making  a dark  tangled  frieze 
against  the  delicate  sky,  he  began. 

“ What  I am  going  to  tell  you  now  has 
been  gathered  partly  from  conversations 
with  my  friend : and  partly  from  letters  he 
has  written  to  me.  Years  ago  I jotted 
down  the  order  of  events,  with  names  and 
dates,  but  that,  of  course,  I fear  I cannot 
show  even  to  you.  However,  I know  the 
story  well,  and  you  may  rely  on  the  main 
facts. 

“ I must  tell  you  first  that  many  years 
ago  now,  my  friend,  who  was  about  forty 
years  old,  had  lately  become  a partner  in 
his  father’s  firm:  and  of  course  was  greatly 
occupied  with  all  the  details  of  business. 
It  was  a broker’s  firm,  well  established  and 
did  a good  steady  business.  My  friend  at 
that  time  had  no  idea  of  doing  any  work 
outside  his  occupation.  I heard  him  say  in 
fact,  about  this  time,  that  his  work  seemed 
to  absorb  all  his  energies  and  capacity. 
Then  the  first  event  of  the  series  took  place. 


With  Dyed  Garments  151 

“ He  was  coming  home  one  frosty  after- 
noon in  December,  between  three  and  four 
o’clock,  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus.  He 
was  sitting  in  front  and  looking  about  him. 
He  noticed  a poorly-dressed  man  standing 
on  the  pavement  on  the  right-hand  side,  as 
if  he  wished  to  cross.  Then  he  began  to 
cross,  and  came  at  last  right  up  to  the 
omnibus  on  which  my  friend  was  sitting, 
and  paused  a moment  to  let  it  pass.  As 
he  stood  there,  my  friend  watching  him 
with  that  listless  interest  with  which  a tired 
man  will  observe  details,  a hansom  cab 
moving  quickly  came  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. It  seemed  as  if  the  horse  would  run 
the  man  down.  It  was  too  sudden  to  warn 
him,  but  the  man  saw  it,  and  to  avoid  the 
horse  sprang  quickly  forward,  his  head  half 
turned  away,  and  his  feet  came  between  the 
front  and  back  wheels  of  the  omnibus. 
There  was  a jolt  and  a terrible  scream,  and 
my  friend  horrified  leant  far  over  the  side 
to  see.  When  the  omnibus  had  passed  the 
man  stood  for  a moment  on  his  crushed 


152  The  Light  Invisible 

feet,  and  then  swayed  forward  and  fell  on 
his  face.  My  friend  started  up  and  made  a 
movement  to  go  to  him,  but  several  others 
had  seen  the  accident  and  ran  to  the  man. 
and  a policeman  was  crossing  quickly  from 
the  other  side,  so  he  sat  down  again  and 
the  omnibus  carried  him  on. 

“ Now  this  horrible  thing  remained  in  my 
friend’s  mind,  haunted  him,  shocked  him 
profoundly.  He  could  not  forget  the 
terrible  face  of  pain  that  he  had  seen  up- 
turned for  an  instant,  and  his  imagination 
carried  him  on  in  spite  of  himself  to  dwell 
on  the  details  of  those  crushed  feet.  He 
wrote  me  a long  letter  a week  or  two  after- 
wards, minutely  describing  all  that  I have 
told  you. 

“The  following  summer  he  was  going 
down  to  the  Kennington  Oval  one  Saturday 
afternoon  to  see  the  close  of  some  famous 
cricket  match.  He  travelled  by  the  Under- 
ground Railway  as  far  as  Westminster,  and 
from  there  determined  to  walk  at  least 
across  the  Bridge.  He  walked  on  the  right- 


With  Dyed  Garments  153 

hand  side,  and  had  reached  the  steps  of 
St.  Thomas’  Hospital.  He  waited  here  a 
moment  undecided  whether  to  walk  on  or 
drive. 

“ As  he  waited,  he  half  turned  and  saw  a 
beggar  sitting  in  the  angle  between  the 
steps  and  the  wall.  There  was  a white  dog 
beside  him.  The  beggar’s  face  was  partly 
bandaged  ; but  what  caught  my  friend’s 
attention  most  were  his  two  hands.  They 
were  lying  palms  downwards  on  the  beggar’s 
knees,  bandaged  like  his  face,  but  in  the 
centre  of  each  was  a dark  spot,  showing 
through  the  wrapping,  as  if  there  were  a 
festering  wound  that  soaked  through  from 
underneath.  My  friend  looked  at  him  in 
disgust  for  a moment : but  terribly  fasci- 
nated by  those  quiet  suffering  hands  ; and 
then  he  passed  on.  But  during  all  that 
afternoon  he  could  not  forget  those  hands. 
I daresay  he  was  overwrought  and  nervous. 
But  his  memory  too  went  back  to  the 
accident  by  the  Marble  Arch.  That  night 
too,  as  he  told  me  in  a conversation  after- 


if 54  The  Light  Invisible 

wards,  as  he  tossed  about,  his  windows  wide 
open  to  catch  the  night  air,  half  waking 
visions  kept  moving  before  him  of  a man 
with  crushed  feet  and  bandaged  hands,  who 
moaned  and  lifted  a drawn  face  to  the  sky, 

“ Early  that  autumn  he  was  alone,  except 
for  the  servants,  in  his  father’s  house  in 
London.  A maid  was  taken  ill.  I forget 
the  nature  of  the  illness,  but  perhaps  you 
will  be  able  to  identify  it  when  I have 
finished.  At  any  rate  the  girl  grew  quickly 
worse.  One  morning  just  before  he  started 
to  the  City  the  doctor,  who  had  called  early 
that  morning,  asked  to  have  a word  with 
him,  and  told  him  he  thought  he  ought  to 
operate  immediately,  and  asked  for  his 
sanction. 

“ ‘ Well,’  said  my  friend,  ‘ of  course  I 
must  speak  to  the  girl  about  it.  Have  you 
told  her  yet  ? ’ 

“ ‘ No,’  said  the  doctor,  ‘ I thought  I 
should  mention  it  to  you  first.  I under- 
stand that  the  girl  has  no  relations  in  the 
world.’ 


With  Dyed  Garments  155 

“‘Can  you  tell  me  the  nature  of  the 
operation  ? ’ asked  my  friend. 

“ ‘ It  is  not  really  serious.  It  is  an  inci- 
sion in  the  right  side,’  and  he  added  a few 
details  explaining  the  case. 

“ ‘ Well,’  said  my  friend,  ‘ we  had  better 
go  upstairs  together.’ 

“ They  went  up  and  found  the  girl  per- 
fectly conscious  and  reasonable.  She  con- 
sented to  the  operation,  which  was  fixed  for 
that  evening. 

“But  all  that  daythe  picture  floatedbefore 
his  eyes  of  the  quiet  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  and  the  girl  lying  there  waiting. 
And  then  the  scene  would  shift  a little. 
And  he  would  see  the  girl  after  it  was  over, 
with  a bandage  against  her  side,  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  little  wound  beneath. 
When  he  reached  home,  late  in  the  evening, 
the  doctor  was  waiting  for  him. 

“ ‘ It  has  been  perfectly  successful,’  he 
said,  ‘ and  I think  she  will  recover.’ 

“ Now,  that  evening,  as  my  friend  sat  at 
the  dinner-table  alone,  smoking  and  think- 


156  The  Light  Invisible 

ing,  his  old  experiences  came  to  his  mind 
again.  In  less  than  a year  he  had  seen 
three  things,  none  of  which  seemed  to  have 
any  very  close  relation  to  him,  but  each  of 
which  had  deeply  affected  him.  He  told 
me  afterwards  that  he  began  to  suspect  a 
design  underlying  them;  but  he  had  not  a 
glimmer  of  light,  strange  as  it  may  seem 
to  you  and  me,  as  to  the  nature  of  that 
design.  Within  a month,  however,  I re- 
ceived a letter  from  him,  from  some  place 
in  the  country  where  he  was  staying,  de- 
scribing the  following  incident. 

“He  had  gone  down  from  a Saturday  to 
Monday  to  a friend’s  house  in  Surrey.  On 
the  Sunday  afternoon  he  and  his  friend 
went  for  a walk  through  some  woods. 
Autumn  was  in  full  glory,  and  the  trees 
were  blazing  in  red  and  gold:  and  the 
bramble  branches  were  weighed  down  with 
purple  fruit.  As  they  walked  together 
along  a grass  ride  they  heard  shouts  and 
laughter  of  children  in  the  woods  on  one 
side.  They  could  hear  footsteps  pattering 


With  Dyed  Garments  157 

through  dry  leaves,  and  the  tearing  and 
trampling  of  brushwood ; and  in  a moment 
more  a boy  burst  out  of  the  thin  hedge, 
tripped  in  a bramble,  and  rolled  into  the 
grass  walk.  He  was  up  again  in  a moment 
laughing  and  flushed,  but  my  friend  saw 
across  his  forehead  a little  thin  red  dotted 
line  where  a thorn  had  scratched  him.  As 
the  boy  laughed  up  into  their  faces,  he 
lifted  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

“ * Why  it’s  wet,*  he  said,  and  then,  look- 
ing at  his  fingers : ‘ Why,  it’s  blood  ! I’ve 
scratched  myself.’ 

“ Other  footsteps  came  running  through 
the  undergrowth,  and  the  boy  himself  ran 
off  down  the  road,  and  the  footsteps  in  the 
wood  stopped,  retraced  themselves  and 
died  away  in  faint  rustlings  up  the  hill. 
But  as  my  friend  had  looked  he  had  seen 
in  his  memory  those  other  experiences  of 
the  last  year.  And  all  seemed  to  concen- 
trate themselves  on  one  Figure — with 
wounded  feet  and  hands  and  side — and  a 
torn  forehead. 


158  The  Light  Invisible 

‘ My  friend  stood  quiet  so  long  that  his 
companion  spoke  to  him  and  touched  his 
arm. 

“ ‘ Yes,  I am  ready,*  he  said ; * let  us  go 
home.’ 

“ The  end  of  the  letter  I cannot  quote  t<\ 
you.  It  is  too  intimate  and  personal.  But 
it  ended  with  a request  to  myself  to  give 
him  an  introduction  to  some  friend  who 
would  give  him  work  to  do  in  some  poor 
district.  And  work  of  that  kind  he  has 
carried  on  ever  since.” 

The  old  priest’s  voice  ceased. 

“ There  is  one  thing  my  friend  did  not 
know,”  he  said  after  a moment.  “ When 
that  particular  operation  on  the  side  is  per- 
formed, of  which  I have  spoken,  there 
comes  out  blood  and  water.  A doctor  will 
tell  you  so.” 

And  then : 

“ That  is  my  friend’s  story,”  he  said. 
“ Do  you  not  think  it  remarkable  ? ” 


Unto  Babes 


“ Saint  Bernard  speaks  of  the  words 
of  Job  that  he  says  : * Abscondit 
lucent  in  manibus ’ (that  is  to  say, 

‘ God  has  light  hid  in  His  hands  ’) ; 

— ‘Thou  wot  well,  he  that  has  a 
candle  a-light  between  his  hands, 
he  may  hide  it  and  shew  it  at  his 
own  will.  So  does  our  Lord  to 
His  chosen,’” 

The  Abbey  of  the  Holy  Ghost , 


Unto  Babes 


few  days  after  the  conversation  I 


have  described  my  visit  to  the  old 
man  came  to  an  end,  and  my  work  drew 
me  back  to  London;  but  I left  behind  me 
a promise  to  return  and  spend  Christmas 
at  his  house.  He  in  the  meantime  would, 
he  promised  me,  try  to  put  together 
some  other  stories  for  me  against  the 
time  that  I should  return.  There  were 
many  others,  he  said,  that  he  had  come 
across  in  his  life  which  he  hoped  would 
interest  me,  besides  a few  more  personal 
experiences  of  his  own. 


i 


1 62  The  Light  Invisible 

And  so  I left  him  smiling  and  waving 
to  me  from  his  bedroom  window  that  over- 
looked the  drive  (for  I had  to  go  by  an 
early  train),  with  the  clean-shaven  face  of 
his  old  servant  looking  at  me  discreetly 
and  gravely  from  the  clear-glass  chapel 
window  next  to  the  priest  s room,  where 
he  had  been  setting  things  ready  before  his 
master  was  dressed. 


It  was  a dark  winter  afternoon  when  I 
returned,  a week  or  so  before  Christmas. 

The  coachman  told  me  on  my  inquiry 
that  his  master  seemed  very  much  aged 
during  the  autumn  and  winter,  that  he  had 
scarcely  left  the  house  since  the  leaves  had 
fallen,  except  to  sit  for  an  hour  or  two  in 
sunshiny  weather  in  the  sheltered  angle  of 
the  wall  where  was  the  tiled  platform  that 
I have  spoken  of ; and  that  he  was  afraid 
he  had  been  suffering  from  depression. 
There  had  been  days  of  almost  complete 
silence,  at  least  so  Parker  had  told  him, 


Unto  Babes 


163 

when  the  master  had  sat  all  day  turning 
over  letters  and  books  and  old  drawers. 

I reproached  myself  with  having  troubled 
the  old  man  with  demands  for  more  stories; 
and  feared  that  it  had  been  in  the  attempt 
to  please  me  that  he  had  fallen  brooding 
over  the  past,  perhaps  dwelling  too  much 
on  sorrows  of  which  I knew  nothing. 

As  we  passed  under  the  pines  that  tossed 
their  sombre  plumes  in  the  wind,  the  sun, 
breaking  through  clouds  in  an  angry  glory 
on  my  right,  blazed  on  the  little  square- 
paned  windows  of  the  house  on  my  left. 
The  chapel-window  on  the  top  story  seemed 
especially  full  of  red  light  streaming  from 
within,  but  the  flame  swept  across  the  upper 
story  as  we  drove  past,  and  left  the  windows 
blank  and  colourless  just  before  we  turned 
the  corner  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

The  old  man  met  me  in  the  hall,  and  I 
was  startled  to  see  the  change  that  had  come 
to  him.  His  eyes  seemed  larger  than  ever, 
and  there  was  a sorrow  in  them  that  I had 
not  seen  before.  They  had  been  the  eyes 


164  The  Light  Invisible 

of  a stainless  child,  wide  and  smiling  ; now 
they  were  the  eyes  of  one  who  was  under 
some  burden  almost  too  heavy  to  be  borne. 
In  the  stronger  light  of  the  sitting-room  as 
the  candles  shone  on  his  face,  I saw  that  my 
impression  had  only  been  caused  by  a droop- 
ing of  the  eyelids,  that  now  hung  down  a 
little  further.  But  it  looked  a tired  face. 

He  welcomed  me,  and  said  several 
charming  things  to  me  that  I should  be 
ashamed  to  quote,  but  he  made  me  feel 
that  he  was  glad  that  I had  come  ; and  so 
I was  glad  too.  But  he  said  among  other 
things  this  : 

“ I am  glad  you  have  come  now,  because 
I think  I shall  have  something  further  to 
tell  you.  I have  had  indications  during  this 
autumn  that  the  end  is  coming,  and  I think 
that  if  I have  to  pass  through  a dark  valley, 
— and  I feel  that  I am  at  its  entrance  even 
now, — I think  that  He  will  give  me  His 
staff  as  well  as  His  rod.  But  I am  an  old 
man  and  full  of  fancies,  so  please  do  not 
question  me.  But  I am  very  glad,”  and 


Unto  Babes 


*65 

he  took  my  hand  and  stroked  it  for  a 
moment,  “ very  glad  that  you  are  here, 
because  I do  not  think  that  you  will  be 
afraid.” 

During  the  following  days  he  told  me 
many  stories,  bringing  out  the  old  books 
and  letters  of  which  the  coachman  had 
spoken,  and  spelling  out  notes  through  his 
tortoiseshell  glass,  as  he  sat  by  the  open 
fireplace  in  the  central  sitting-room,  with 
the  logs  crackling  and  overrun  with  swift 
sparks  as  they  rested  on  their  bed  of 
ashes.  The  door  into  the  garden  where 
the  old  drive  had  once  been  was  now 
kept  closed,  and  a heavy  curtain  hung 
over  it. 

We  did  not  go  out  very  much  together — 
only  in  the  early  afternoons  we  would  walk 
for  an  hour  or  so,  he  leaning  on  my  arm 
and  on  a stick,  up  and  down  the  terraced 
walk  that  lay  next  the  drive  under  the  pines, 
as  the  sunset  burned  across  the  hills  like 
a far-away  judgment.  Some  day  perhaps  I 
will  write  out  some  of  the  stories  that  he 


1 66  The  Light  Invisible 

told  me,  although  not  all.  I have  the  notes 
by  me. 

Here  is  one  of  them. 

We  were  walking  on  one  of  these  dark 
winter  afternoons  very  slowly  uphill  to- 
wards the  village  that  the  priest  might  get 
a change  from  the  garden.  The  morning 
had  been  gusty  and  wet,  with  sleet  showers 
and  even  a sprinkle  of  pure  snow  as  the 
sky  cleared  after  lunch-time  ; and  now  the 
weather  was  settling  down  for  a frost,  and 
the  snow  lay  thinly  here  and  there  on  the 
rapidly  hardening  ground. 

“ It  is  remarkable,”  the  old  man  was 
saying  to  me,  “ how  in  spite  of  our  Lord’s 
words  people  still  think  that  faith  is  a 
matter  more  or  less  of  intellect.  Such  a 
phrase  as  * intelligent  faith  ’ is,  of  course, 
strictly  most  incorrect.” 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me  as  he  said 
this,  as  if  prepared  for  dispute.  I did  not 
disappoint  him. 

“ You  are  very  puzzling  ; ” I said.  “ 1 
cannot  believe  that  you  do  not  value  intel- 


Unto  Babes 


167 

lect.  Surely  it  is  a gift  of  God,  and  there- 
fore may  adorn  faith,  as  any  other  gift 
may  do.” 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  walking  on,  “ it  may 
adorn  it  ; but  it  has  nothing  more  to  do 
with  it  really  than  jewels  have  to  do  with  a 
beautiful  woman.  In  fact,  sometimes  faith 
is  far  more  beautiful  unadorned,  and  it  is 
quite  possible  to  crush  a delicate  and  growing 
faith  with  a weight  of  learned  arguments 
intended  to  adorn  and  perfect  it.  Christian 
apologetics,  it  seems  to  me,  are  only  really 
useful  in  the  mouth  of  one  who  realises 
their  entire  inadequacy.  You  can  demon- 
strate nothing  of  God.  You  can,  by  argu- 
ments, draw  a number  of  lines  that  converge 
towards  God,  and  render  His  existence 
and  His  attributes  probable ; but  you  can- 
not reach  Him  along  those  lines.  Faith 
depends  not  on  intellectual  but  on  moral 
conditions.  ‘ Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,’ 
said  our  Saviour,  not  ‘ Blessed  are  the  pro- 
found or  acute  of  intellect  ’ — ‘ for  they 
shall  see  God.’  It  is  certainly  true  of 


1 68  The  Light  Invisible 

intellectual  as  of  all  other  riches  that  they 
who  possess  them  shall  find  difficulty  in 
entering  into  the  kingdom  of  God.” 

“ And  so,”  I said,  “ you  think  that  in- 
tellectual powers  are  not  things  to  covet, 
and  that  education  is  not  a very  important 
question  after  all  ? ” 

“ No  more  than  wealth,”  he  answered, 
“ at  least  so  far  as  you  mean  by  education 
instruction  in  demonstrable  facts  or  exact 
sciences.  The  point  of  our  existence  here 
is  to  know  God.  Well,  you  know  for 
yourself  how  the  race  for  wealth  is  ruining 
millions  of  souls  to-day.  No  less  surely  is 
keen  intellectual  competition  ruining  souls. 

Mr. , for  instance,”  he  said,  naming  a 

well-known  critic  and  poet ; “ was  there 
ever  a man  of  keener  and  finer  intellect,  or 
of  more  unerring  instinct  in  matters  of 
literary  taste  ? Well,  once  I talked  with 
that  man  most  of  a day  on  all  his  own 
subjects ; in  fact,  he  did  nearly  all  the 
talking,  and  I was  astonished,  I must  con- 
fess, at  the  perfection  of  the  training  of  his 


Unto  Babes 


1 69 

already  brilliant  powers.  So  much  I could 
perceive,  though  of  course  I could  not 
follow  him.  And  of  course  there  were 
many  delicate  shades  of  beauty,  if  not  much 
more,  invisible  to  me  in  his  talk  and  criti- 
cism. His  scale  of  intellectual  beauty  ran 
up  out  of  my  sight  altogether.  But  what 
astonished  me  more  was  the  coarseness  and 
dulness  of  his  spiritual  instinct.  I will 
not  call  him  a child  in  matters  of  faith, 
because  that  would  be  high  praise  ; but  he 
was  just  an  ill-bred  boor.  I have  known 
many  a Sussex  villager  of  far  purer  and 
finer  spiritual  fibre.  No,  no  ; faith  can  and 
does  exist  quite  apart  from  intellect ; and 
to  increase  or  develop  the  one  often  means 
the  decrease  and  incoherence  of  the  other. 
Seigneur , donnez-moi  lafoi  du  charbonnier  /” 
I must  confess  that  this  was  a new  point 
of  view  for  me  ; and  I am  not  sure  now 
whether  I do  not  still  think  it  exaggerated 
and  dangerous  ; but  I said  nothing,  because 
it  did  seem  to  open  up  difficult  questions, 
and  also  to  throw  light  on  other  difficult 


ijo  t The  Light  Invisible 

questions.  The  priest  turned  to  me  again 
as  he  walked. 

“ Why,  it  must  be  so,”  he  said ; “ if  it 
were  not,  clever  people  would  have  a better 
hope  of  salvation  than  stupid  people  ; and 
that  is  absurd — as  absurd  as  if  rich  people 
should  be  nearer  God  than  poor  people. 
No,  no;  talents  are  distributed  unevenly,  it 
is  true  : to  one  ten  and  to  another  five ; 
but  each  has  one  pound,  all  alike.” 

We  had  reached  the  top  of  the  slope, 
and  the  towering  hedges  had  gradually 
fallen  away,  so  that  we  could  now  see  far 
and  wide  over  the  country.  Away  behind 
us,  as  we  paused  for  breath,  we  could  see 
the  misty  Brighton  downs,  while  in  the 
middle  distance  lay  tumbled  wooded  hills, 
with  smoke  beginning  to  curl  up  here  and 
there  from  the  evening  fires  of  hidden 
villages.  The  sky  was  clear  overhead,  but 
in  the  west,  where  the  sunset  was  beginning 
to  smoulder,  a few  heavy  clouds  still 
lingered. 

‘ And  God  sees  all : ” said  the  priest. 


Unto  Babes 


171 

“ Can  you  put  up  with  another  story  as  we 
walk  home  again  ? I think  I ought  to  be 
turning  now.” 

We  turned  and  began  to  retrace  our 
steps  downhill. 

“ This  is  not  an  experience  of  my  own,” 
he  said.  “ It  was  told  me  by  a friend  of 
mine  in  Cornwall.  He  was  the  squire  of 
a little  village  a few  miles  out  of  Truro, 
and  lived  there  most  of  the  year  except  a 
few  weeks  in  the  spring,  when  he  would  go 
abroad.  He  was  a man  of  great  learning 
and  taste,  but  had  the  faith  of  a little  child. 
It  was  like  a spring  of  clear  water  to  hear 
him  speak  of  God  and  heavenly  things. 

“ There  was  a boy  in  the  village  who 
was  an  idiot.  His  parents  were  dead,  and 
he  lived  alone  with  his  old  grandmother, 
who  was  a strict  Calvinist,  and  who  regarded 
her  grandson  as  hopelessly  damned  because 
his  faith  and  his  expression  of  it  were  not 
as  hers.  There  were  evident  signs,  she  said, 
that  God’s  inscrutable  decrees  were  against 
him.  The  local  preachers  there  would 


172  The  Light  Invisible 

have  nothing  to  do  with  the  boy  ; and  the 
clergyman  of  the  parish,  after  an  attempt 
or  two,  had  given  the  child  up  as  hopeless. 
I think  my  friend  told  me  that  the  clergy- 
man had  tried  to  teach  him  Old  Testament 
history. 

“ Well,  the  boy  was  a terrible  and  dis- 
gusting case.  I will  not  go  into  details 
beyond  saying  that  the  boy’s  head  had  the 
look  of  a mule  about  it ; his  mother,  I 
think,  had  had  a fright  shortly  before  his 
birth,  and  the  boy  used  to  think  sometimes 
that  he  was  a horse  or  mule,  and  the  village 
children  used  to  encourage  him  in  it,  and 
ride  and  drive  him  on  the  green,  for  he  was 
quite  harmless.  And  so  he  grew  up,  neg- 
lected and  untaught,  spending  much  of  his 
time  out  of  doors,  and  creeping  home  on 
all  fours  in  the  evening,  snorting  and 
stamping  and  neighing  when  he  was  much 
excited  ; and  he  would  stable  himself  in  a 
corner  of  the  wide  dark  kitchen,  and 
munch  grass  ; while  his  grandmother  sat 
in  her  high  chair  by  the  fire  reading  in  her 


Unto  Babes 


*7  3 

Bible,  or  looking  over  her  spectacles  at  the 
poor  misshapen  body  in  the  corner  that 
held  a damned  soul. 

“ Now  my  friend  hated  to  see  this  child. 
It  was  the  one  thing  that  troubled  his  faith. 
Those  who  have  the  faith  of  children  have 
also  the  troubles  of  children  ; and  this 
living  example  before  his  eyes  of  what 
looked  like  the  carelessness  of  God,  or 
worse,  was  a greater  offence  to  my  friend’s 
faith  than  all  infidel  arguments,  or  the  mere 
knowledge  that  such  things  happened. 

“ On  a certain  Christmas  Eve  my  friend 
had  been  a long  tramp  over  the  hills  with 
a guest  who  was  staying  with  him  for  the 
shooting.  They  were  returning  through 
his  own  property  towards  evening,  and 
were  just  dropping  down  from  the  hill. 
Their  path  lay  along  the  upper  edge  of  an 
old  disused  stone-quarry,  whose  entrance 
lay  perhaps  a hundred  yards  away  from  the 
valley-road  that  led  into  the  village — so  it 
was  a lonely  and  unfrequented  place.  The 
evening  was  closing  in  ; and  my  friend,  as 


174  The  Light  Invisible 

he  led  the  way  along  the  path,  was  trying 
to  make  out  the  outlines  of  stones  and 
bushes  on  the  floor  of  the  quarry,  which 
lay  perhaps  seventy  feet  below  them.  All 
at  once  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  steady 
glimmer  of  light  somewhere  in  the  dimness 
beneath,  and  the  sound  of  a voice.  He 
guessed  at  once  that  there  were  tramps 
below,  and  was  angry  at  the  thought  that 
they  must  have  wilfully  disregarded  the 
notice  he  had  put  up  about  making  a fire 
so  close  to  the  wood  : and  he  determined 
to  turn  them  out,  and,  if  need  be,  to  give 
them  shelter  for  the  night  in  one  of  his 
own  outhouses.  So  he  stopped  and  ex- 
plained to  his  friend  which  path  would  take 
him  home,  while  that  he  himself  intended 
to  make  his  way  along  the  lip  of  the  quarry 
to  the  entrance,  and  then  to  go  on  into  its 
interior  where  the  tramps  had  made  their 
camp  ; and  he  promised  to  be  at  the  house 
five  minutes  after  his  friend. 

“ So  they  separated,  and  he  himself  soon 
found  his  way  down  a narrow  overgrown 


Unto  Babes 


*75 

path  that  brought  him  to  the  opening  of 
the  quarry. 

“ It  was  a good  deal  darker  here,  as  the 
hill  shadowed  it  from  the  west,  and  high 
trees  rose  on  one  side  ; but  he  was  able  to 
stumble  along  the  stony  path  which  led  to 
the  interior,  though  it  grew  darker  still  as 
he  went.  Presently  he  turned  the  corner 
of  a tall  boulder,  and  emerged  into  the 
kind  of  semi-circus  that  formed  the  heart 
of  the  quarry  : before  him,  about  a third 
way  up  the  slope,  burned  the  glimmer  of 
light  he  had  noticed  from  above,  but  even 
as  he  saw  it  it  went  out : my  friend  stood 
in  the  path  and  called  out,  explaining  who 
he  was,  not  threatening  at  all,  but  offering, 
if  it  was  any  one  who  wanted  shelter,  to 
provide  it  for  the  night.  There  was  no 
answer,  only  the  sound  of  scuffling  in  the 
dimness  in  front,  and  then  the  confused 
sound  of  footsteps  scrambling  : my  friend 
ran  forward,  calling,  and  made  out  presently 
an  oddly  shaped  thing  scrambling  over  the 
silt  and  stone  towards  a shoulder  of  rock 


176  The  Light  Invisible 

that  stood  out  against  the  sky  on  his  left 
(I  think  he  said).  He  tried  to  follow,  but 
it  was  too  dark,  and  after  he  had  stumbled 
once  or  twice,  he  gave  up  the  pursuit.  In 
a moment  more  the  climbing  figure  stood 
out  clear  against  the  sky  for  an  instant,  and 
then  disappeared  : and  the  squire  saw  with 
a shock  of  disgust  the  mule-like  head  and 
tangled  hair  rising  from  the  high  shoulders 
of  the  village  idiot,  and  his  hands  dangling 
on  each  side  of  him  ; and  he  heard  a high- 
screaming  neighing.  But  at  least,  he  thought 
to  himself,  he  would  go  and  see  what  the 
boy  had  been  doing. 

“ He  made  his  way  up  the  slope  of  silted 
gravel  and  mud  that  lay  against  the  face  of 
the  rock,  and  at  last  reached  a little  plat- 
form apparently  stamped  and  cut  out  at 
the  top  of  the  skree  just  where  it  touched 
the  quarry-side.  It  was  too  dark  for  him 
to  distinguish  anything  clearly,  so  he  struck 
a match  and  held  it  in  the  still  sheltered  air 
while  he  looked  about  him.  This  is  wliat 
tie  saw. 


Unto  Babes 


*77 

“ There  was  a short  halter,  with  a kind 
of  rude  head-stall,  fastened  to  a rusty  iron 
staple  driven  into  the  rock.  There  was  a 
little  pile  of  cut  grass  below  it.  There  was 
a kind  of  mud  trough  constructed  against 
the  stone,  with  a little  straw  sprinkled  in  it 
and  holly  berries  and  leaves  in  front  of  it  ; 
but  this  showed  signs  of  having  been  hastily 
trampled  down,  though  parts  of  it  survived : 
there  were  marks  of  hob-nailed  boots  in  it 
here  and  there.  So  much  my  friend  had 
noticed  when  the  match  burned  his  fingers : 
but  just  before  he  dropped  it  he  noticed 
something  else  which  made  him  open  his 
box  and  light  another  match  : and  then  he 
saw  the  end  of  a farthing  taper  sticking  out 
of  the  ground  into  which  it  had  been  pushed, 
and  another  crushed  into  a ball.  He  drew 
out  the  first  and  lighted  it,  and  then  noticed 
this  last  thing.  Quite  plainly  marked  on 
the  soft  edge  of  the  mud-trough,  in  a place 
which  the  hob-nailed  boots  had  not  touched, 
was  the  mark  of  a tiny  child’s  naked  foot, 
as  if  a baby  had  stood  in  the  trough  or 

M 


178  The  Light  Invisible 

manger,  with  one  foot  on  the  floor  and 
another  on  the  edge. 

“Now  I do  not  know  what  you  think 
of  this,  but  I know  what  my  friend  thought 
of  it,  and  what  I myself  think  of  it.  But 
before  he  went  home  he  went  first  to  the 
cottage  where  the  boy  lived  and  found  him 
as  usual  tethered  in  the  corner,  with  his 
grandmother  nodding  before  the  fire.  The 
boy  would  do  nothing  but  snort  and  stamp : 
and  the  grandmother  could  only  say  that 
ten  minutes  ago  the  boy  had  run  in  and 
gone  straight  to  his  corner  as  usual.  The 
squire  asked  whether  the  boy  had  been 
trusted  with  a child  by  any  one  ; but  the 
grandmother  said  it  was  impossible.  Nor 
indeed  did  he  ever  after  hear  a word  of  a 
child  having  been  missed  on  that  after- 
noon. 

“ Then,  before  he  went  home,  he  went 
to  the  little  church,  already  decorated  for 
the  festival,  and  there  with  the  fragrance  of 
the  holly  and  yew  in  the  air  about  him,  and 
the  glimmer  of  a candle  near  the  altar 


Unto  Babes 


*79 

where  the  church-cleaner  was  sweeping,  he 
praised  the  Holy  Child  whose  Birth-night 
it  was,  and  who  had  not  disdained  to  lie  in 
a manger  and  be  adored  by  the  beasts  of  the 
stall. 

“ The  following  morning  on  his  way 
back  from  church  he  went  to  the  quarry 
again  with  his  friend  to  show  him  what  he 
had  seen  ; but  the  manger  and  the  holly- 
berries  and  crumpled  taper  were  all  gone, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  see  but  the  iron 
staple  and  the  platform  beaten  hard  and 
flat.” 

We  had  reached  the  avenue  of  pines  by 
now  that  led  to  the  house,  and  turned  in 
by  the  little  garden-gate. 

“ The  story  seems  to  show,”  the  priest 
added,  “ that  intellect  has  not  much  to  do 
with  the  knowledge  of  God  ; and  that  the 
things  which  He  hides  from  the  wise  and 
orudent  He  reveals  to  babes.” 


The  Traveller 


“ I am  amazed,  not  that  the  Tra- 
veller returns  from  that  Bourne, 
but  that  he  returns  so  seldom.” 
The  Pilgrims'  Way . 


The  Traveller 


On  one  of  these  evenings  as  we  sat 
together  after  dinner  in  front  of  the 
wide  open  fireplace  in  the  central  room  of 
the  house,  we  began  to  talk  on  that  old 
subject — the  relation  of  Science  to  Faith. 

“ It  is  no  wonder,”  said  the  priest,  “ if 
their  conclusions  appear  to  differ,  to  shallow 
minds  who  think  that  the  last  words  are 
being  said  on  both  sides ; because  their 
standpoints  are  so  different.  The  scientific 
view  is  that  you  are  not  justified  in  com- 
mitting yourself  one  inch  ahead  of  your 
intellectual  evidence  : the  religious  view  is 


184  The  Light  Invisible 

that  in  order  to  find  out  anything  worth 
knowing  your  faith  must  always  be  a little 
in  advance  of  your  evidence  ; you  must 
advance  en  echelon.  There  is  the  principle 
of  our  Lord’s  promises.  ‘ Act  as  if  it  were 
true,  and  light  will  be  given.’  The  scientist 
on  the  other  hand  says,  * Do  not  presume 
to  commit  yourself  until  light  is  given.’ 
The  difference  between  the  methods  lies,  of 
course,  in  the  fact  that  Religion  admits  the 
heart  and  the  whole  man  to  the  witness- 
box,  while  Science  only  admits  the  head — 
scarcely  even  the  senses.  Yet  surely  the 
evidence  of  experience  is  on  the  side  of 
Religion.  Every  really  great  achievement 
is  inspired  by  motives  of  the  heart,  and  not 
of  the  head ; by  feeling  and  passion,  not  by 
a calculation  of  probabilities.  And  so  are 
the  mysteries  of  God  unveiled  by  those 
who  carry  them  first  by  assault ; ‘ The 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  suffereth  violence;  and 
the  violent  take  it  by  force.’ 

“ For  example,”  he  continued  after  a 
moment,  “ the  scientific  view  of  haunted 


The  Traveller  185 

houses  is  that  there  is  no  evidence  for  them 
beyond  that  which  may  be  accounted  for 
by  telepathy,  a kind  of  thought-reading. 
Yet  if  you  can  penetrate  that  veneer  of 
scientific  thought  that  is  so  common  now, 
you  find  that  by  far  the  larger  part  of 
mankind  still  believes  in  them.  Practically 
not  one  of  us  really  accepts  the  scientific 
view  as  an  adequate  one.” 

“ Have  you  ever  had  an  experience  of 
that  kind  yourself  ? ” I asked. 

“ Well,”  said  the  priest,  smiling,  “ you 
are  sure  you  will  not  laugh  at  it  ? There 
is  nothing  commoner  than  to  think  such 
things  a subject  for  humour  ; and  that  I 
cannot  bear.  Each  such  story  is  sacred  to 
one  person  at  the  very  least,  and  therefore 
should  be  to  all  reverent  people.” 

I assured  him  that  I would  not  treat  his 
story  with  disrespect. 

“ Well,”  he  answered,  “ I do  not  think 
you  will,  and  I will  tell  you.  It  only 
happened  a very  few  years  ago.  This  was 
how  it  began  : 


1 86  The  Light  Invisible 

“ A friend  of  mine  was,  and  is  still,  in 
charge  of  a church  in  Kent,  which  I will 
not  name  ; but  it  is  within  twenty  miles  of 
Canterbury.  The  district  fell  into  Catholic 
hands  a good  many  years  ago.  I received 
a telegram,  in  this  house,  a day  or  two 
before  Christmas,  from  my  friend,  saying 
that  he  had  been  suddenly  seized  with  a 
very  bad  attack  of  influenza,  which  was 
devastating  Kent  at  that  time ; and  asking 
me  to  come  down,  if  possible  at  once,  and 
take  his  place  over  Christmas.  I had  only 
lately  given  up  active  work,  owing  to 
growing  infirmity,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
resist  this  appeal ; so  Parker  packed  my 
things  and  we  went  together  by  the  next 
train. 

“ I found  my  friend  really  ill,  and  quite 
incapable  of  doing  anything;  so  I assured 
him  that  I could  manage  perfectly,  and 
that  he  need  not  be  anxious. 

“ On  the  next  day,  a Wednesday,  and 
Christmas  Eve,  I went  down  to  the  little 
church  to  hear  confessions.  It  was  a 


The  Traveller  187 

Deautiful  old  church,  though  tiny,  and  full 
of  interesting  things  : the  old  altar  had 
been  set  up  again  ; there  was  a rood-loft 
with  a staircase  leading  on  to  it ; and  an 
awmbry  on  the  north  of  the  sanctuary  had 
been  fitted  up  as  a receptacle  for  the  Most 
Holy  Sacrament,  instead  of  the  old  hanging 
pyx.  One  of  the  most  interesting  dis- 
coveries made  in  the  church  was  that  of 
the  old  confessional.  In  the  lower  half  of 
the  rood-screen,  on  the  south  side,  a square 
hole  had  been  found,  filled  up  with  an 
insertion  of  oak ; but  an  antiquarian  of  the 
Alcuin  Club,  whom  my  friend  had  asked  to 
examine  the  church,  declared  that  this 
without  doubt  was  the  place  where  in  the 
pre- Reformation  times  confessions  were 
heard.  So  it  had  been  restored,  and  put  to 
its  ancient  use ; and  now  on  this  Christmas 
Eve  I sat  within  the  chancel  in  the  dim 
fragrant  light,  while  penitents  came  and 
knelt  outside  the  screen  on  the  single  step, 
and  made  their  confessions  through  the  old 
opening. 


1 88  The  Light  Invisible 

“ I know  this  is  a great  platitude,  but  I 
never  can  look  at  a piece  of  old  furniture 
without  a curious  thrill  at  a thing  that  has 
been  so  much  saturated  with  human 
emotion  ; but,  above  all  that  I have  ever 
seen,  I think  that  this  old  confessional 
moved  me.  Through  that  little  opening 
had  come  so  many  thousands  of  sins,  great 
and  little,  weighted  with  sorrow  ; and  back 
again,  in  Divine  exchange  for  those  bur- 
dens, had  returned  the  balm  of  the 
Saviour’s  blood.  ‘ Behold  ! a door  opened 
in  heaven,’  through  which  that  strange 
commerce  of  sin  and  grace  may  be  carried 
on — grace  pressed  down  and  running 
over,  given  into  the  bosom  in  exchange 
for  sin  1 O bonum  commercium  ! ” 

The  priest  was  silent  for  a moment,  his 
eyes  glowing.  Then  he  went  on, 

“ Well,  Christmas  Day  and  the  three 
following  festivals  passed  away  very  hap- 
pily. On  the  Sunday  night  after  service, 
as  I came  out  of  the  vestry,  I saw  a child 
waiting.  She  told  me,  when  I asked  her 


The  Traveller  189 

if  she  wanted  me,  that  her  father  and 
others  of  her  family  wished  to  make  their 
confessions  on  the  following  evening  about 
six  o’clock.  They  had  had  influenza  in 
the  house,  and  had  not  been  able  to  come 
out  before  ; but  the  father  was  going  to 
work  next  day,  as  he  was  so  much  better> 
and  would  come,  if  it  pleased  me,  and 
some  of  his  children  to  make  their  con- 
fessions in  the  evening  and  their  com- 
munions the  following  morning. 

“ Monday  dawned,  and  I offered  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  as  usual,  and  spent  the 
morning  chiefly  with  my  friend,  who  was 
now  able  to  sit  up  and  talk  a good  deal, 
though  he  was  not  yet  allowed  to  leave 
his  bed. 

“ In  the  afternoon  I went  for  a walk. 

“All  the  morning  there  had  rested  a 
depression  on  my  soul  such  as  I have  not 
often  felt ; it  was  of  a peculiar  quality. 
Every  soul  that  tries,  however  poorly,  to 
serve  God,  knows  by  experience  those 
heavinesses  by  which  our  Lord  tests  and 


190  The  Light  Invisible 

confirms  His  own  : but  it  was  not  like 
that.  An  element  of  terror  mingled  with 
it,  as  of  impending  evil. 

“ As  I started  for  my  walk  along  the 
high  road  this  depression  deepened.  There 
seemed  no  physical  reason  for  it  that  I 
could  perceive.  I was  well  myself,  and 
the  weather  was  fair  ; yet  air  and  exercise 
did  not  affect  it.  I turned  at  last,  about 
half-past  three  o’clock,  at  a milestone 
that  marked  sixteen  miles  to  Canterbury. 

“ I rested  there  for  a moment,  looking 
to  the  south-east,  and  saw  that  far  on  the 
horizon  heavy  clouds  were  gathering ; 
and  then  I started  homewards.  As  I went 
I heard  a far-away  boom,  as  of  distant 
guns,  and  I thought  at  first  that  there  was 
some  sea-fort  to  the  south  where  artillery 
practice  was  being  held ; but  presently  I 
noticed  that  it  was  too  irregular  and  pro- 
longed for  the  report  of  a gun  ; and  then 
it  was  with  a sense  of  relief  that  I came  to 
the  ^conclusion  it  was  a far-away  thunder- 
storm, for  I felt  that  the  state  of  the 


The  Traveller 


191 

atmosphere  might  explain  away  this  de- 
pression that  so  troubled  me.  The  thunder 
seemed  to  come  nearer,  pealed  more  loudly 
three  or  four  times  and  ceased. 

“ But  I felt  no  relief.  When  I reached 
home  a little  after  four  Parker  brought 
me  in  some  tea,  and  I fell  asleep  afterwards 
in  a chair  before  the  fire.  I was  wakened 
after  a troubled  and  unhappy  dream  by 
Parker  bringing  in  my  coat  and  telling  me 
it  was  time  to  keep  my  appointment  at 
the  church.  I could  not  remember  what 
my  dream  was,  but  it  was  sinister  and 
suggestive  of  evil,  and,  with  the  shreds  of 
it  still  clinging  to  me,  I looked  at  Parker 
with  something  of  fear  as  he  stood  silently 
by  my  chair  holding  the  coat. 

“ The  church  stood  only  a few  steps 
away,  for  the  garden  and  churchyard  ad- 
joined one  another.  As  I went  down 
carrying  the  lantern  that  Parker  had 
lighted  for  me,  I remember  hearing  far 
away  to  the  south,  beyond  the  village, 
the  beat  of  a horse’s  hoofs.  The  horse 


192  The  Light  Invisible 

seemed  to  be  in  a gallop,  but  presently  the 
noise  died  away  behind  a ridge. 

“ When  I entered  the  church  I found 
that  the  sacristan  had  lighted  a candle  or 
two  as  I had  asked  him,  and  I could  just 
make  out  the  kneeling  figures  of  three  or 
four  people  in  the  north  aisle. 

“ When  I was  ready  I took  my  seat  in 
the  chair  set  beyond  the  screen,  at  the 
place  I have  described  ; and  then,  one  by 
one,  the  labourer  and  his  children  came  up 
and  made  their  confessions.  I remember 
feeling  again,  as  on  Christmas  Eve,  the 
strange  charm  of  this  old  place  of  peni- 
tence, so  redolent  of  God  and  man,  each 
in  his  tenderest  character  of  Saviour  and 
penitent  ; with  the  red  light  burning  like 
a luminous  flower  in  the  dark  before  me, 
to  remind  me  how  God  was  indeed  taber- 
nacling with  men,  and  was  their  God. 

“ Now  I do  not  know  how  long  I had 
been  there,  when  again  I heard  the  beat  of 
a horse’s  hoofs,  but  this  time  in  the  village 
just  below  the  churchyard ; then  again 


The  Traveller 


r93 

there  fell  a sudden  silence.  Then  presently 
a gust  of  wind  flung  the  door  wide,  and 
the  candles  began  to  gutter  and  flare  in 
the  draught.  One  of  the  girls  went  and 
closed  the  door. 

“ Presently  the  boy  who  was  kneeling 
by  me  at  that  time  finished  his  confession, 
received  absolution  and  went  down  the 
church,  and  I waited  for  the  next,  not 
knowing  how  many  there  were. 

“ After  waiting  a minute  or  two  I turned 
in  my  seat,  and  was  about  to  get  up, 
thinking  there  was  no  one  else,  when  a 
voice  whispered  sharply  through  the  hole 
a single  sentence.  I could  not  catch  the 
words,  but  I supposed  they  were  the  usual 
formula  for  asking  a blessing,  so  I gave 
the  blessing  and  waited,  a little  astonished 
at  not  having  heard  the  penitent  come 
up.  ^ 

“ Then  the  voice  began  again.” 

The  priest  stopped  a moment  and  looked 
round,  and  I could  see  that  he  was  tremb- 
ling a little 


194  The  Light  Invisible 

“ Would  you  rather  not  go  on  ? ” I said. 
“ I think  it  disturbs  you  to  tell  me.” 

“ No,  no,”  he  said;  “ it  is  all  right,  but 
it  was  very  dreadful — very  dreadful. 

“ Well,  the  voice  began  again  in  a loud 
quick  whisper,  but  the  odd  thing  was  that 
I could  hardly  understand  a word  ; there 
were  just  phrases  here  and  there,  like  the 
name  of  God  and  of  our  Lady,  that  I 
could  catch.  Then  there  were  a few  old 
French  words  that  I knew  ; ‘ le  roy  ' came 
over  and  over  again.  Just  at  first  I 
thought  it  must  be  some  extreme  form  of 
dialect  unknown  to  me  ; then  I thought  it 
must  be  a very  old  man  who  was  deaf, 
because  when  I tried,  after  a few  sentences, 
to  explain  that  I could  not  understand,  the 
penitent  paid  no  attention,  but  whispered 
on  quickly  without  a pause.  Presently  I 
could  perceive  that  he  was  in  a terrible 
state  of  mind ; the  voice  broke  and 
sobbed,  and  then  almost  cried  out,  but 
still  in  this  loud  whisper  ; then  on  the 
other  side  of  the  screen  I could  hear 


The  Traveller 


195 

fingers  working  and  moving  uneasily,  as 
if  entreating  admittance  at  some  barred 
door.  Then  at  last  there  was  silence  for 
a moment,  and  then  plainly  some  closing 
formula  was  repeated,  which  gradually 
grew  lower  and  ceased.  Then,  as  I rose, 
meaning  to  come  round  and  explain  that 
I had  not  been  able  to  hear,  a loud  moan 
or  two  came  from  the  penitent.  I stood 
up  quickly  and  looked  through  the  upper 
part  of  the  screen,  and  there  was  no  one 
there. 

“ I can  give  you  no  idea  of  what  a shock 
that  was  to  me.  I stood  there  glaring,  1 
suppose,  through  the  screen  down  at  the 
empty  step  ror  a moment  or  two,  ana  per- 
haps I said  something  aloud,  for  I heard  a 
voice  from  the  end  of  the  church. 

“ * Did  you  call,  sir  ? ’ ” And  there  stood 
the  sacristan,  with  his  keys  and  lantern, 
ready  to  lock  up. 

“ I still  stood  without  answering  for  a 
moment,  and  then  I spoke ; my  voice 
sounded  oddly  in  my  ears. 


196  The  Light  Invisible 

“ ‘ Is  there  any  one  else,  Williams  ? Are 
they  all  gone  ? ’ or  something  like  that. 

“ Williams  lifted  his  lantern  and  looked 
round  the  dusky  church. 

“ ‘ No,  sir;  there  is  no  one.’ 

“ I crossed  the  chancel  to  go  to  the 
vestry,  but  as  I was  half-way,  suddenly 
again  in  the  quiet  village  there  broke  out 
the  desperate  gallop  of  a horse. 

“ ‘ There  ! there  ! ’ I cried,  ‘ do  you  hear 
that  ? ’ 

“ Williams  came  up  the  church  towards 
me. 

“ ‘Are  you  ill,  sir?’  he  said.  ‘Shall  I 
fetch  your  servant  ? ’ 

“ I made  an  effort  and  told  him  it  was 
nothing;  but  he  insisted  on  seeing  me  home: 
I did  not  like  to  ask  him  whether  he  had 
heard  the  gallop  of  the  horse;  for,  after 
all,  I thought,  perhaps  there  was  no  con- 
nection between  that  and  the  voice  that 
whispered. 

“ I felt  very  much  shaken  and  disturbed; 
and  after  dinner,  which  I took  alone  of 


The  Traveller  197 

course,  I thought  I would  go  to  bed  very 
soon.  On  my  way  up,  however,  I looked 
into  my  friend’s  room  for  a few  minutes. 
He  seemed  very  bright  and  eager  to  talk, 
and  I stayed  very  much  longer  than  I had 
intended.  I said  nothing  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  church;  but  listened  to  him 
while  he  talked  about  the  village  and  the 
neighbourhood.  Finally,  as  I was  on  the 
point  of  bidding  him  good-night,  he  said 
something  like  this: 

“ ‘ Well,  I mustn’t  keep  you,  but  I’ve 
been  thinking  while  you’ve  been  in  church 
of  an  old  story  that  is  told  by  antiquarians 
about  this  place.  They  say  that  one  of  St. 
Thomas  h Becket’s  murderers  came  here 
on  the  very  evening  of  the  murder.  It  is 
his  day,  to-day,  you  know,  and  that  is  what 
put  me  in  mind  of  it,  I suppose.” 

“While  my  friend  said  this,  my  old 
heart  began  to  beat  furiously;  but,  with  a 
strong  effort  of  self-control,  I told  him  I 
should  like  to  hear  the  story. 

“ ‘ Oh  1 there’s  nothing  much  to  tell,’ 


198  The  Light  Invisible 

said  my  friend ; * and  they  don’t  know  who 
it’s  supposed  to  have  been;  but  it  is  said  to 
have  been  either  one  of  the  four  knights,  or 
one  of  the  men-at-arms.’ 

“ ‘ But  how  did  he  come  here  ? ’ I asked, 
‘ and  what  for  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh  ! he’s  supposed  to  have  been  in 
terror  for  his  soul,  and  that  he  rushed  here 
to  get  absolution,  which,  of  course,  was 
impossible.’ 

“ ‘ But  tell  me,*  I said.  ‘ Did  he  come 
here  alone,  or  how  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Well,  you  know,  after  the  murder 
they  ransacked  the  Archbishop’s  house  and 
stables:  and  it  is  said  that  this  man  got  one 
of  the  fastest  horses  and  rode  like  a mad- 
man, not  knowing  where  he  was  going* 
and  that  he  dashed  into  the  village,  and  into 
the  church  where  the  priest  was:  and  then 
afterwards,  mounted  again  and  rode  off. 
The  priest,  too,  is  buried  in  the  chancel, 
somewhere,  I believe.  You  see  it’s  a very 
vague  and  improbable  story.  At  the  Gate- 
house at  Mailing,  too,  you  know,  they  say 


The  Traveller 


199 

that  one  of  the  knights  slept  there  the  night 
after  the  murder.’ 

“I  said  nothing  more;  but  I suppose  I 
looked  strange,  because  my  friend  began  to 
look  at  me  with  some  anxiety,  and  then 
ordered  me  off  to  bed:  so  I took  my  candle 
and  went. 

“ Now,”  said  the  priest,  turning  to  me, 
“ that  is  the  story.  I need  not  say  that  I 
have  thought  about  it  a great  deal  ever 
since:  and  there  are  only  two  theories 

which  appear  to  me  credible,  and  two  others, 
which  would  no  doubt  be  suggested,  which 
appear  to  me  incredible. 

“ First,  you  may  say  that  I was  ob- 
viously unwell:  my  previous  depression 
and  dreaming  showed  that,  and  there- 
fore that  I dreamt  the  whole  thing.  If 
you  wish  to  think  that — well,  you  must 
think  it. 

“ Secondly,  you  may  say,  with  the 
Psychical  Research  Society,  that  the  whole 
thing  was  transmitted  from  my  friend’s 
brain  to  mine;  that  his  was  in  an  energetic, 


200  The  Light  Invisible 

and  mine  in  a passive  state,  or  something  of 
the  kind. 

“ These  two  theories  would  be  called 
* scientific,*  which  term  means  that  they  are 
not  a hair’s-breadth  in  advance  of  the  facts 
with  which  the  intellect,  a poor  instrument 
at  the  best,  is  capable  of  dealing.  And 
these  two  ‘ scientific  ’ theories  create  in 
their  turn  a new  brood  of  insoluble  diffi- 
culties. 

“ Or  you  may  take  your  stand  upon  the 
spiritual  world,  and  use  the  faculties  which 
God  has  given  you  for  dealing  with  it,  and 
then  you  will  no  longer  be  helplessly 
puzzled,  and  your  intellect  will  no  longer 
overstrain  itself  at  a task  for  which  it  was 
never  made.  And  you  may  say,  I think, 
that  you  prefer  one  of  two  theories. 

“ First,  that  human  emotion  has  a power 
of  influencing  or  saturating  inanimate 
nature.  Of  course  this  is  only  the  old 
familiar  sacramental  principle  of  all  crea- 
tion The  expressions  of  your  face,  for 
instance,  caused  by  the  shifting  of  the 


The  Traveller 


201 


chemical  particles  of  which  it  is  composed, 
vary  with  your  varying  emotions.  Thus 
we  might  say  that  the  violent  passions  of 
hatred,  anger,  terror,  remorse,  of  this  poor 
murderer,  seven  hundred  years  ago,  com- 
bined to  make  a potent  spiritual  fluid  that 
bit  so  deep  into  the  very  place  where  it  was 
all  poured  out,  that  under  certain  circum- 
stances it  is  reproduced.  A phonograph, 
for  example,  is  a very  coarse  parallel,  in 
which  the  vibrations  of  sound  translate 
themselves  first  into  terms  of  wax,  and 
then  re-emerge  again  as  vibrations  when 
certain  conditions  are  fulfilled. 

“ Or,  secondly,  you  may  be  old-fashioned 
and  simple,  and  say  that  by  some  law,  vast 
and  inexorable,  beyond  our  perception,  the 
personal  spirit  of  the  very  man  is  chained 
to  the  place,  and  forced  to  expiate  his  sin 
again  and  again,  year  by  year,  by  attempt- 
ing to  express  his  grief  and  to  seek  forgive- 
ness, without  the  possibility  of  receiving  it. 
Of  course  we  do  not  know  who  he  was; 
whether  one  of  the  knights  who  afterwards 


202 


The  Light  Invisible 

did  receive  absolution,  which  possibly  was 
not  ratified  by  God;  or  one  of  the  men- 
at-arms  who  assisted,  and  who,  as  an  anony- 
mous chronicle  says,  ‘ sine  confessione  et 
viatico  subito  rapti  sunt.' 

“There  is  nothing  materialistic,  I think, 
in  believing  that  spiritual  beings  may  be 
bound  to  express  themselves  within  limits 
of  time  and  space ; and  that  inanimate 
nature,  as  well  as  animate,  may  be  the 
vehicles  of  the  unseen.  Arguments  against 
such  possibilities  have  surely,  once  for  all, 
been  silenced,  for  Christians  at  any  rate, 
by  the  Incarnation  and  the  Sacramental 
system,  of  which  the  whole  principle  is  that 
the  Infinite  and  Eternal  did  once,  and  does 
still,  express  Itself  under  forms  of  inanimate 
nature,  in  terms  of  time  and  space. 

“ With  regard  to  another  point,  perhaps 
I need  not  remind  you  that  a thunderstorm 
broke  over  Canterbury  on  the  day  and 
hour  of  the  actual  murder  of  the  Arch- 
bishop.” 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World 


. . . quell’  ombre  orando,  andavan  sotto  il  pondo 
simile  a quel  che  talvolta  si  sogna, 
disparmente  angosciate  tutte  a tondo 
e lasse  su  per  la  prima  cornice, 
purgando  le  caligine  del  mondo.” 

II  Purgatono . 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World 


As  the  days  went  on  I became  more  reas- 
sured about  my  friend.  Parker  told  me 
there  was  an  improvement  since  I had  come : 
and  the  shadow  in  his  eyes  seemed  a little 
lightened.  On  Christmas  Eve  the  Rector 
called,  and  they  were  shut  up  together  in 
the  chapel  for  an  hour  after  tea;  and  the  old 
man,  I suppose,  made  his  confession.  He 
seemed  brighter  than  ever  that  evening, 
and  told  me  story  after  story  after  dinner, 
old  tales  of  when  he  was  a child. 

On  Christmas  morning  he  celebrated  the 
Holy  Mysteries  as  usual  in  the  chapel,  and 


206  The  Light  Invisible 

I received  the  Communion  at  his  hands. 
We  went  to  church  in  the  brougham, 
and  that  was  the  last  time  the  old  priest 
was  seen  in  public.  There  was  intense 
curiosity  about  him  in  the  village,  as  well 
as  the  greatest  reverence  and  love  for 
him,  and  I noticed  a ripple  of  interest 
along  the  benches  as  we  passed  up  to  the 
Hall  pew. 

On  the  evening  ot  Christmas  Day  he 
had  provided  a Christmas  tree  in  the  ser- 
vants’ hall;  but  we  only  looked  in  for  a 
moment  when  the  shouting  was  at  its 
loudest,  and  he  nodded  at  a child  or  two 
who  caught  sight  of  him,  and  I saw  his 
whole  face  kindle  with  joy  and  tenderness, 
and  then  we  went  back  to  the  fire  in  the 
sitting-room. 

The  morning  of  St.  John’s  Day  broke 
dark  and  heavy.  We  had  to  have  candles 
at  breakfast,  and  the  old  man  seemed 
curiously  changed  and  depressed  again. 
He  hardly  spoke  at  all,  and  looked  at  me 
almost  resentfully,  like  an  overwrought 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  207 

child,  when  I failed  to  blow  out  the  spirit 
lamp  at  the  first  attempt. 

All  day  long  the  gloom  outside  seemed 
to  gather,  the  sun  went  down  in  a pale 
sky  barred  with  indigo,  and  the  wind  began 
to  rise. 

The  old  man,  after  a word  or  two,  went 
to  his  room  soon  after  dinner,  and  I under- 
stood from  Parker,  who  presently  came  in, 
that  the  master  was  exceedingly  sorry  for 
his  discourtesy,  but  that  he  did  not  feel 
equal  to  conversation,  and  intended  to  go 
to  bed  early,  and  that  he  would  be  obliged 
if  I could  manage  to  amuse  myself  alone 
that  evening.  But  I too  went  upstairs  early, 
feeling  a little  uneasy. 

On  the  top  landing  of  the  north  end  ot 
the  house  there  are  three  doors:  the  central 
one  is  the  chapel  door;  that  on  the  right, 
approached  by  two  little  steep  steps  of  its 
own,  was  the  priest’s  room;  that  on  the  left 
opposite  was  my  own  room.  As  I went  in,  I 
noticed  that  a light  shone  from  under  the 
chapel  door,  and  that  his  own  door  was  wide 


208  The  Light  Invisible 

open,  showing  the  flickering  light  of  the  fire 
within.  As  I paused  I saw  Parker  pass 
across  the  doorway,  and  called  to  him  in  a 
low  voice. 

“Yes,  sir;  he’s  fairly  well,  I think,”  he 
answered  to  my  inquiry.  “ He  is  in  the 
chapel  just  now,  and  is  coming  to  bed 
directly.  He  told  me  just  now,  sir,  too, 
to  ask  whether  you  would  serve  him  to- 
morrow morning.” 

“Certainly,”  I said;  “but  are  you  sure 
he  ought  to  get  up?  He  has  not  been  well 
all  day.” 

“ Well,  sir,”  said  Parker ; “ I will  do  my 
best  to  persuade  him  to  stay  in  bed,  and 
will  let  you  know  if  I succeed,  but  I doubt 
whether  the  master  will  be  persuaded.” 

As  I crossed  outside  the  chapel  door  to 
go  to  my  own  room  I heard  a murmur 
from  within,  with  a word  or  two  which  I 
cannot  write  down. 

Before  I was  in  bed  I heard  the  chapel 
door  open,  and  footsteps  go  up  the  little 
steps  opposite,  and  the  door  close  Presently 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  209 

it  opened  again ; and  then  a tap  at  my 
door. 

“ It’s  only  me,  sir,”  said  Parker’s  voice. 
“ May  I speak  to  you  a moment  ? ” and 
then  he  came  in  with  a candle  in  his  hand. 

“ I’m  not  easy  about  him,  sir,”  he  said. 
“ But  he  won’t  let  me  sleep  in  his  room,  as 
1 asked.  I’ve  come  to  ask  you  whether  you 
will  let  me  lie  down  on  your  sofa.  I don’t 
like  to  leave  him.  My  own  room  is  at  the 
other  end  of  the  house.  Excuse  me,  sir, 
if  I’ve  asked  what  I shouldn’t.  But  I don’t 
like  to  sleep  on  the  landing  for  fear  he 
should  look  out  and  see  me,  and  be  dis- 
pleased.” 

Of  course  I assented,  almost  eagerly,  for 
I felt  a strange  discomfort  and  loneliness 
myself. 

Parker  went  noiselessly  downstairs  and 
got  a rug  or  two  and  a pillow,  and  then,  with 
many  apologies,  lay  down  on  the  sofa  near 
the  window.  My  bed  stood  at  the  other 
end  of  the  long  narrow  room  under  the 

sloping  side  ot  the  roof.  I blew  the  candles 

O 


210  The  Light  Invisible 

out  presently,  and  the  room  was  in  dark- 
ness. 

I could  not  sleep  at  first.  I was  anxious 
for  my  friend,  and  I lay  and  listened  for 
the  slightest  sound  from  the  landing.  But 
Parker’s  face,  as  I had  seen  it  as  he  had  stood 
with  the  candle  in  his  hand,  reassured  me 
that  he  too  would  be  on  the  watch.  The 
wind  had  half  died  down  again.  Only  there 
came  gusts  from  time  to  time  that  shook 
the  leaded  windows.  Gradually  I began  to 
doze,  then  I suppose  I dropped  off  to  sleep, 
and  I dreamed. 

In  my  dream  I knew  that  I was  still  in 
my  room,  lying  on  my  bed,  but  the  room 
seemed  illuminated  with  a light  whose 
source  I could  not  imagine.  The  curtains, 
I thought,  were  no  longer  drawn  over  the 
windows,  but  looped  back,  and  the  light 
from  my  room  fell  distinctly  upon  the 
panes.  I thought  I was  sitting  up  in  bed 
watching  for  something  at  the  window, 
something  which  would  terrify  me  when  it 
came.  And  then  as  1 watched  there  came 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  21 1 

a gust  of  wind,  and  lashed,  to  judge  by  the 
sound,  a big  spray  of  ivy  across  the  outside. 
Then  again  it  came,  and  again,  but  the 
sound  grew  more  distinct.  I could  see 
nothing  at  the  window,  but  there  came  that 
ceaseless  patter  and  tap,  like  a thousand 
fingers.  Then  a dead  leaf  or  two  was 
whirled  up,  stuck  for  a moment  on  the 
glass,  and  whirled  away  again.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  ivy-spray  and  the  leaves 
were  clamouring  to  be  admitted  into  shelter 
from  that  wild  wind  outside.  I grew  terri- 
fied at  their  insistence,  and  tried  in  my 
dream  to  call  to  Parker,  whom  I fancied  to 
be  still  in  the  room,  and  in  the  struggle 
awoke,  and  the  room  was  dark.  No;  as  I 
looked  about  me  it  was  not  quite  dark. 
There  lay  across  the  floor  an  oblong  patch 
of  light  from  the  door.  I gradually  realised 
that  the  door  was  open  ; there  came  a 
draught  round  the  corner  at  the  foot  of  my 
bed.  I sat  up  and  called  gently  to  Parker. 
But  there  was  no  answer.  I got  out  of 
bed  noiselessly,  and  went  across  the  floor  to 


212  The  Light  Invisible 

where  I saw  the  dim  outlines  of  the  sofa. 
As  I drew  near  I stumbled  over  a rug,  and 
then  felt  the  pillow,  also  on  the  floor.  I 
put  my  hands  almost  instinctively  down, 
and  felt  that  the  sofa  was  still  warm,  but 
Parker  was  gone.  Then  I looked  out  ot 
the  door.  The  landing  was  lit  by  an  oil- 
lamp,  and  its  light  fell  upon  the  priest’s 
door.  It  was  almost  closed,  but  I could 
hear  a faint  murmur  of  voices. 

I put  on  my  dressing-gown  and  slippers 
and  went  out.  Almost  simultaneously  the 
door  opposite  opened  a little  wider,  and 
Parker’s  face  looked  out,  white  and  scared. 
When  he  saw  me,  he  came  swiftly  out  and 
down  the  stairs,  beckoning  to  me ; but  as 
we  met,  a loud  high  voice  came  from  the 
priest’s  room. 

“ Parker,  Parker ! tell  him  to  come  in — 
at  once — at  once.  Don’t  leave  me.” 

“ Go  in,  sir:  go  in,”  Parker  said,  in  a 
loud  whisper  to  me,  pushing  me  towards 
the  door.  I went  quickly  up  the  two 
steep  steps  and  entered,  Parker  close 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  213 

behind  me,  and  I heard  him  close  the  door 
softly. 

There  was  a tall  screen  on  my  left,  and 
behind  it  was  the  bed,  with  the  head  in  the 
corner  of  the  room  : a fire  was  burning 
near  the  bed.  I came  round  the  screen 
quickly,  and  saw  the  priest  sitting  up  in 
bed.  He  wore  a tippet  over  his  shoulders 
and  a small  skull-cap  on  his  head.  His 
eyes  were  large  and  bright,  and  looked  at 
me  almost  unintelligently.  His  hands 
were  hidden  by  the  bedclothes.  There 
was  a little  round  table  by  the  head  of  the 
bed,  on  which  stood  two  burning  candles 
in  silver  candlesticks.  I drew  up  a chair 
by  the  table  and  sat  down. 

“ My  old  friend,”  I said,  “ what  is  it  ? 
Cannot  you  sleep  ? ” 

He  made  no  answer  to  me  directly, 
but  stared  past  me  round  the  room,  and 
then  fixed  his  eyes  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed. 

“ The  sorrows  of  the  world,”  he  said, 
“ and  the  sorrows  under  the  earth.  They 


214  The  Light  Invisible 

come  to  me  now,  because  I have  not  under- 
stood them,  nor  wept  for  them.” 

And  then  he  drew  out  his  old,  thin, 
knotted  hands,  and  clasped  them  outside 
the  rug  that  lay  on  the  outside  of  the  bed. 
I laid  my  own  hand  upon  them. 

“ You  have  had  a greater  gift  than  that,” 
I said.  “ You  have  known  instead  the 
joys  of  the  world.” 

He  paid  no  attention  to  me,  but  stared 
mournfully  before  him,  but  he  did  not 
withdraw  his  hands. 

There  came  a sudden  gust  of  wind  out- 
side; and  even  in  that  corner  away  from  the 
window  the  candle  flames  leant  over  to  one 
side,  and  then  the  chimney  behind  me 
sighed  suddenly. 

The  priest  unclasped  his  hands,  and  my 
own  hand  fell  suddenly  on  the  coverlet. 
He  stretched  out  his  left  hand  to  the 
window  as  it  still  shook,  and  pointed  at 
it  in  silence,  glaring  over  my  head  as  he 
did  so. 

Almost  instinctively  I turned  to  the  long 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  215 

low  window  and  looked.  But  the  curtains 
were  drawn  over  it : they  were  just  stirring 
and  heaving  in  the  draught,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen.  I could  hear  the  pines 
tossing  and  sighing  like  a troubled  sea 
outside. 

Then  he  broke  out  into  a long  wild  talk, 
now  in  a whisper,  and  now  breaking  into 
something  like  a scream. 

Parker  came  quickly  round  from  the 
doorway,  where  he  had  been  waiting  out  of 
sight,  and  stood  behind  me,  anxious  and 
scared.  Sometimes  I could  not  hear  what 
the  priest  said:  he  muttered  to  himself: 
much  of  it  I could  not  understand:  and 
some  of  it  I cannot  bring  myself  to  write 
down — so  sacred  was  it — so  revealing  of 
his  soul’s  inner  life  hidden  with  Christ  in 
God. 

“ The  sorrows  of  the  world,”  he  cried 
again  ; “ they  are  crying  at  my  window,  at 
the  window  of  a hard  old  man  and  a trai- 
torous priest  . . . betrayed  them  with  a 
kiss.  . . . Ah!  the  Holy  Innocents  who  have 


216  The  Light  Invisible 

suffered  ! Innocents  of  man  and  bird  and 
beast  and  flower  ; and  I went  my  way  or 
sat  at  home  in  the  sunshine;  and  now  they 
come  crying  to  me  to  pray  for  them.  How 
little  I have  prayed  ! ” Then  he  broke  into 
a torrent  of  tender  prayer  for  all  suffering 
things.  It  seemed  to  me  as  he  prayed  as 
if  the  wind  and  the  pines  were  silent.  Then 
he  began  again  : 

“ Their  pale  faces  look  through  the 
glass ; no  curtains  can  shut  them  out. 
Their  thin  fingers  tap  and  entreat.  . . . 
And  I have  closed  my  heart  at  that  door 
and  cannot  open  it  to  let  them  in.  . . . There 
is  the  face  of  a dog  who  has  suffered — his 
teeth  are  white,  but  his  eyes  are  glazed  and 
his  tongue  hangs  out.  . . . There  is  a rose 
with  drenched  petals — a rose  whom  I forgot. 
See  how  the  wind  has  battered  it.  . . . The 
sorrows  of  the  world  ! . . . There  come  the 
souls  from  under  the  earth,  crying  for  one  to 
release  them  and  let  them  go — souls  that 
all  men  have  forgotten,  and  I,  the  chief  of 
sinners.  ...  I have  lived  too  much  in  the 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  217 

sweetness  of  God  and  forgotten  His 
sorrows.” 

Then  he  turned  to  a crucifix  of  ebony 
and  silver  that  hung  on  the  wall  at  his 
side,  and  looked  on  it  silently.  And  then 
again  he  broke  into  compassionate  prayer 
to  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  entreating 
Him  by  His  Agony  and  Bloody  Sweat,  by 
His  Cross  and  Passion,  to  remember  all 
suffering  things.  That  prayer  that  I heard 
gave  me  a glimpse  into  mysteries  of  which 
I had  not  dreamed ; mysteries  of  the  unity 
of  Christ  and  His  members,  a unity  of 
pain.  These  great  facts,  which  I thank 
God  I know  more  of  now,  stood  out  in 
fiery  lines  against  the  dark  sorrow  that 
seemed  to  have  filled  the  room  from  this 
old  man’s  heart. 

Then  suddenly  he  turned  to  me,  and  his 
eyes  so  searched  my  own  that  I looked 
down,  while  his  words  lashed  me. 

“ You,  my  son,”  he  said,  “ what  have 
you  done  to  help  our  Lord  and  His  chil- 
dren ? Have  you  watched  or  slept  ? 


218  The  Light  Invisible 

Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  one 
hour  ? What  share  have  you  borne  in 
the  Incarnation  ? Have  you  believed  for 
those  who  could  not  believe,  hoped  for  the 
despairing,  loved  and  adored  for  the  cold  ? 
And  if  you  could  not  understand  nor  do 
this,  have  you  at  least  welcomed  pain  that 
would  have  made  you  one  with  them  ? 
Have  you  even  pitied  them  ? Or  have  you 
hidden  your  face  for  fear  you  should  grieve 
too  much  ? But  what  am  I that  I should 
find  fault  ? ” Then  he  broke  off  again 
into  self-reproach. 

At  this  point  Parker  bent  over  me  and 
whispered  : 

“ He  will  die,  sir,  I think,  unless  you 
can  get  him  to  be  quiet.” 

The  old  man  overheard,  and  turned 
almost  fiercely. 

“ Quiet  ? ” he  cried,  “ when  the  world 
is  so  unquiet  ! Can  I rest,  do  you  think, 
with  those  at  my  window  ? ” Then,  with  a 
loud  cry,  “ Ah  ! they  are  in  the  room  ! 
They  look  at  me  from  the  air  i I cannot 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  219 

bear  it.”  And  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
old  thin  hands,  and  shrank  back  against 
the  wall. 

I got  up  from  my  seat,  and  looked 
round  as  I did  so.  It  seemed  to  my  fancy 
as  if  there  were  some  strange  Presence 
filling  the  room.  It  seemed  as  I turned  as 
if  crowding  faces  swiftly  withdrew  them- 
selves over  and  behind  the  screen.  A 
picture  on  the  wall  overhead  lifted  and 
dropped  again  like  a door  as  if  to  let  some- 
thing escape.  The  coverlet,  which  was  a 
little  disarranged  by  the  old  man’s  move- 
ment, rippled  gently  as  if  some  one  who 
had  been  seated  on  the  bed  had  risen.  I 
heard  Parker,  too,  behind  me  draw  his 
breath  quickly  through  his  teeth.  All  this 
I noticed  in  a moment ; the  next  I had 
bent  over  the  bed  towards  the  priest  and 
put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Either 
he  or  I was  trembling,  I felt  as  I touched 
him. 

“ My  dear  old  friend,”  I said,  “ cannot 
you  lie  down  quietly  a little  ? You 


220  The  Light  Invisible 

cannot  think  how  you  are  distressing  us 
both.” 

Then  I added  a word  or  two,  presump- 
tuously, I felt,  in  the  presence  of  this  old 
man,  who  knew  so  much  about  the  Love  of 
God  and  the  Compassion  of  our  Saviour. 

Presently  he  withdrew  his  hands  and 
looked  at  me. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  he  said  ; “ but  you  do  not 
understand.  I am  a priest.” 

I sat  down  again.  I tried  hard  to  con- 
trol a great  trembling  that  had  seized  me. 
Still  he  watched  me.  Then  he  said  more 
quietly  : 

“ Is  it  nearly  morning  ?” 

“ It  is  not  yet  twelve  o’clock,  sir,”  said 
Parker’s  voice  steadily  behind  me. 

“ Then  I must  watch  and  pray  a little 
longer,”  said  the  old  man.  “ Joy  cometh 
in  the  morning.” 

Then  quite  quietly  he  turned  and  lifted 
the  crucifix  from  its  nail,  kissed  it  and  re- 
placed it.  Then  he  put  his  hands  over  his 
face  again  and  remained  still. 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  221 

The  wind  outside  seemed  quieter.  But 
whenever  it  sighed  in  the  chimney  or  at 
the  window  the  priest  winced  a little,  as  it 
a sudden  pain  had  touched  him. 

He  was  supported  by  pillows  behind  his 
back  and  head,  against  which  he  leaned 
easily.  After  a few  minutes  of  silence  his 
hands  dropped  and  clasped  themselves  on 
his  lap.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and  he 
seemed  breathing  steadily.  I hoped  that 
he  would  fall  asleep  so.  But  as  I turned 
to  whisper  to  Parker,  I suppose  I must 
have  made  a slight  noise,  for  when  I looked 
at  the  servant  he  paid  no  attention  to  me, 
but  was  looking  at  his  master.  I turned 
back  again,  and  saw  the  old  man’s  eyes 
gazing  straight  at  me. 

“ Yes,”  he  said  ; “ go  and  sleep  ; why 
are  you  here  ? Parker,  why  did  you  allow 
him  to  come  ? ” 

“ 1 woke  up  and  came  myself,”  I said. 
“ Parker  did  not  disturb  me.” 

“ Well,  go  back  to  bed  now.  You  will 
serve  me  in  the  morning  ? ” 


222 


The  Light  Invisible 

I tried  to  say  something  about  his  not 
being  fit  to  get  up,  but  he  waved  it 
aside. 

“You  cannot  understand,”  he  said 
quietly.  “ That  is  my  one  hope  and 
escape.  Joy  cometh  in  the  morning. 
There  are  many  souls  here  and  elsewhere 
that  are  waiting  for  that  joy,  and  1 must 
not  disappoint  them.  And  I too,”  he 
added  softly,  “ I too  look  for  that  joy.  Go 
now,  and  we  will  meet  in  the  morning.” 
And  he  smiled  at  me  so  gently  that  I got 
up  and  went,  feeling  comforted. 

After  I had  been  in  bed  a little  while,  I 
heard  the  priest’s  door  open  and  close 
again,  and  then  Parker  tapped  at  my  open 
door  and  came  in. 

“ I have  left  him  quiet,  sir.  I do  not 
think  he  will  sleep,  but  he  would  not  let 
me  stay.” 

“ Have  you  ever  seen  him  like  this 
before  ? ” I asked. 

“ Never  quite  like  this,  sir,”  he  said;  and 
as  1 looked  at  the  old  servant  I saw  that  his 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  223 

eyes  were  bright  with  tears,  and  his  lips 
twitching. 

“ Well,”  I said,  “ we  have  both  heard 
strange  things  to-night.  Your  master 
whom  you  love  is  in  the  hands  of  God.” 

The  old  servant’s  face  broke  into  lines  of 
sorrow ; and  then  the  tears  ran  down  his 
face. 

“ Excuse  me,  sir,”  he  said,  “ I am  not 
quite  myself.  Shall  I put  the  candle  out, 
sir  ? ” Then  he  lay  down  on  the  sofa. 

“ One  word  more,  Parker.  You  will 
wake  me  if  you  hear  anything  more.  And 
anyhow  you  will  call  me  at  seven  if  I should 
be  asleep.” 

“ Certainly,  sir,”  answered  Parker’s 
voice  from  the  darkness. 

I slept  and  woke  often  that  night.  Each 
time  I woke  I went  quietly  to  the  door 
and  looked  across  the  landing  and  listened. 
Each  time  I was  not  so  quiet  but  that 
Parker  heard  me  and  was  by  me  as  I 
looked,  and  each  time  there  was  a line  of 
light  under  the  priest’s  door  ; and  once  or 


224  The  Light  Invisible 

twice  a murmur  of  one  voice  at  least  from 
the  room. 

Towards  morning  I fell  into  a sound 
sleep,  and  awoke  to  find  Parker  arranging 
my  clothes  and  setting  ready  my  bath. 
The  rugs  and  the  pillow  were  gone  from 
the  sofa,  and  there  was  no  sign  on  the 
servant’s  face  that  anything  unusual  had 
happened  during  the  night. 

“ How  is  he  ? ” I asked  quickly.  “ Have 
you  seen  him  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  Parker ; “ he  is  dressing 
now,  and  will  be  ready  at  half-past  seven. 
It  is  a little  before  seven  now,  sir.” 

“ But  how  is  he  ? ” I asked  again. 

“ I scarcely  know,  sir,”  answered  Parker. 
“ He  does  not  seem  ill,  but  he  is  very 
silent  again  this  morning,  sir.” 

Then,  after  a pause,  “ Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you,  sir  ? ” 

“ There  is  nothing  more,  thank  you,”  I 
said,  and  he  left  the  room. 

I got  up  presently  and  dressed.  The 
morning  was  still  dark,  and  I dressed  by 


The  Sorrows  of  the  World  225 

candlelight.  When  I drew  the  curtains 
back  the  sky  had  just  begun  to  glimmer  in 
the  reflected  dawn  from  the  other  side  of 
the  house ; but  it  was  too  dark  to  see  to 
read  except  by  artificial  light. 

I went  out  on  to  the  landing,  paused  a 
moment,  and  heard  a footstep  in  the 
priest’s  room.  Then  I opened  the  door  of 
the  oratory  and  went  in. 


In  the  Morning 


"At  the  end  of  woe  suddenly  our 
eyes  shall  be  opened,  and  in 
clearness  of  light  our  sight  shall 
be  full  : which  light  is  God,  our 
Maker  and  Holy  Ghost,  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Saviour.” 

Mother  Julian. 


In  the  Morning 


he  oratory  is  a little  room,  white- 


washed, crossed  by  oaken  beams  on 
the  walls.  The  window  is  opposite  the 
door ; and  the  altar  stands  to  the  left.  There 
is  a bench  or  two  on  the  right. 

When  I entered  on  this  morning  the 
tapers  were  lighted,  the  vestments  laid  out 
upon  the  altar,  and  all  prepared.  I went 
across  and  knelt  by  the  window.  Presently 
I heard  the  priest’s  door  open,  and  in  a 
moment  more  he  came  in,  followed  by 
Parker,  who  closed  the  door  behind  him 
and  came  and  knelt  at  the  bench.  I looked 


230  The  Light  Invisible 

eagerly  at  the  old  man’s  face ; it  was  white 
and  tired-looking,  and  the  eyebrows  seemed 
to  droop  more  than  ever,  but  it  was  a quiet 
face.  It  was  only  for  an  instant  that  I saw 
it,  for  he  turned  to  the  altar  and  began  to 
vest:  and  then  when  he  was  ready  he 
began. 

It  was  strange  to  hear  that  voice,  which 
had  rung  with  such  intensity  of  pain  so  few 
hours  before,  now  subdued  and  controlled ; 
and  to  watch  the  orderly  movements  of 
those  hands  that  had  twisted  and  gesti- 
culated with  such  terrible  appeal.  I felt 
that  Parker  too  was  watching  with  a close 
and  awful  interest  what  we  both  half  feared 
would  be  a shocking  climax  to  the  scenes  of 
the  night  before,  but  which  we  half  hoped 
too  would  recall  and  quiet  that  troubled 
spirit. 

Dawn  was  now  beginning  to  shine 
on  the  western  sky.  There  was  a tall  holly 
tree  that  rose  nearly  to  the  level  of  the 
window.  As  I looked  out  for  a moment 
my  eye  was  caught  by  the  outline  of  a bird, 


In  the  Morning  231 

faintly  seen,  sitting  among  the  upper 
branches. 

Now  I will  only  mention  one  incident 
that  took  place.  I was  in  such  a strange 
and  disordered  state  of  mind  that  I scarcely 
now  can  remember  certainly  anything  but 
this.  As  the  Priest’s  Communion  drew 
near  there  came  a sudden  soft  blow  against 
the  window  panes.  . . . 

When  the  priest  began  to  unvest,  I left 
the  chapel  and  went  downstairs  to  await  him 
in  the  breakfast  room.  But  as  he  did  not 
come,  I went  outside  the  house  for  a few 
minutes,  and  presently  found  myself  below 
the  chapel  window.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I was  in  a dream — the  very  earth  I trod  on 
seemed  unreal.  I was  unable  to  think  con- 
nectedly. The  scene  in  the  chapel  seemed 
to  stand  out  vividly.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
if  in  some  sense  it  were  a climax,  but  of 
what  nature,  whether  triumphant  or  full  of 
doom,  I could  not  tell. 

As  I stood  there,  perplexed,  downcast,  in 
the  growing  glimmer  of  the  day,  my  eyes 


232  The  Light  Invisible 

fell  upon  a small  rumpled  heap  at  my  feet, 
and  looking  closer  I saw  it  was  the  body  of 
a thrush ; it  was  still  limp  and  warm,  and 
as  1 lifted  it  I remembered  the  sudden  blow 
against  the  window  panes.  But  as  I still 
stood,  utterly  distracted,  the  chapel  window 
was  thrown  open,  and  Parker’s  face  looked 
out  as  I gazed  up.  He  beckoned  to  me 
furiously  and  withdrew,  leaving  the  window 
swinging. 

I laid  the  thrush  under  a bush  at  the 
corner  of  the  house  as  I ran  round,  and 
came  in  quickly  and  up  the  stairs.  Parker 
met  me  on  the  landing. 

“ He  just  reeled  and  fell,  sir,”  he  said, 
“ up  the  stairs  into  his  room.  I’ve  laid  him 
on  the  bed,  and  must  get  down  to  the 
stables  to  send  for  the  doctor.  Will  you 
stay  with  him,  sir,  till  I come  back  ? ” 
And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  was 
gone. 

That  evening  I was  still  sitting  by  my 
friend’s  side.  I had  food  brought  up  to 
my  room  during  the  day,  but  except  for 


In  the  Morning  233 

those  short  intervals  was  with  him  continu- 
ally. The  doctor  had  come  and  gone.  All 
that  he  could  tell  us  was  that  the  old  man 
had  had  a seizure  of  some  kind,  and  he  had 
looked  grave  when  I told  him  of  the  events 
of  the  night  before. 

“ His  age  is  against  him,  too,”  the 
doctor  had  said ; “ I cannot  say  what  will 
happen.” 

And  then  he  had  given  directions,  and 
had  left,  promising  to  return  again,  any 
rate  the  next  morning. 

I had  been  trying  to  read  with  a shaded 
lamp,  looking  from  time  to  time  at  the 
figure  of  the  old  man  on  the  bed,  as  he  lay 
white  and  quiet,  with  his  eyes  closed,  as  he 
had  lain  all  day. 

At  about  six  o’clock,  I had  just  glanced 
at  my  watch,  when  a slight  movement  made 
me  turn  to  the  bed  again,  and  I could  see 
in  the  dim  light  that  his  eyes  were  open  and 
fixed  upon  me,  but  all  the  pain  was  gone 
out  of  them,  and  they  were  a child’s  eyes 
again.  I rose  and  went  to  his  side,  and  sat 


234  The  Light  Invisible 

down  in  the  same  chair  that  I had  occupied 
the  night  before.  Immediately  I had  sat 
down  he  put  out  his  hand,  and  I took  it 
and  held  it.  His  eyes  smiled  at  me,  and 
then  he  spoke,  very  slowly,  with  long 
pauses. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ vou  have  been  with 
me  and  nave  seen  and  heard,  last  night  and 
this  morning ; but  it  is  all  ended,  and  the 
valley  is  lightening  again  at  its  eastern  end 
where  the  sun  rises.  So  it  was  not  all 
dreams  and  fancies — those  old  stories  that 
you  bore  with  so  patiently  to  please  me. 
Now  tell  me  what  you  heard  and  saw.  Did 
you  see  them  all  in  the  room  last  night? 
and  — and  ” — his  eyes  grew  wide  and 
insistent  — “ what  did  you  see  this 

morning  ? ” 

Now  the  doctor  had  told  me  that  he 
must  not  be  over-excited,  but  soothed ; and 
honestly  enough,  though  some  who  may 
read  this  may  not  agree  with  me,  I thought 
it  was  better  to  speak  plainly  of  those 
things  so  strange  to  you  and  me,  but  so  dear 


In  the  Morning  235 

and  familiar  to  him.  And  so  I told  him  all 
I had  heard  and  seen. 

“ Ah ! ” he  said  when  I had  finished, 
“ then  we  were  not  quite  as  one.  But  still 
you  saw  and  heard  more  than  most  men. 
Now  will  you  hear  one  more  story  ? I will 
not  tell  you  all  I saw  last  night,  because  the 
Lord  has  been  gracious  to  me,  and  is  rising 
with  healing  in  His  wings  on  me  and  on 
many  other  poor  creatures.  But  the  wounds 
are  aching  still,  and  if  you  will  spare  me,  I 
will  not  speak  much  of  the  shadows  of  last 
night,  but  only  of  the  joys  that  came  in  the 
morning.  Will  you  hear  it  ? ” 

“ My  dear  old  friend,”  I said,  “ are  you 
sure  it  will  not  be  too  much  for  you  ? ” 

He  shook  his  head  ; and  then,  still  hold- 
ing my  hand  in  his,  his  fingers  tightening 
and  relaxing  as  he  told  his  tale,  with  many 
pauses  and  efforts,  he  began : 

“ Last  night  the  sorrows  of  death  came 
to  me,”  he  said,  “ and  all  the  blood  and 
agony  and  desolation  of  the  whole  world 
seemed  to  be  round  me.  And  I have  had 


236  The  Light  Invisible 

so  little  sorrow  in  my  life  that  I was  ill 
prepared  to  meet  them.  Our  Lord  has 
always  shown  me  such  grace  and  given  me 
so  much  joy.  But  He  warned  me  again 
and  again  this  autumn.  That  was  why  I 
spoke  to  you  as  I did  when  you  came  before 
Christmas. 

“ Well,  last  night,  all  this  came  to  me. 
And  it  seemed  as  if  I were  partly  respon 
sible.  Years  ago  I was  set  apart  as  a priest 
to  stand  between  the  dead  and  the  living. 
It  was  meant  that  I should  be  the  meeting- 
place,  as  every  priest  must  be,  of  creation’s 
need  and  God’s  grace — as  every  Christian 
must  be  in  his  station.  That  is  what  inter- 
cession and  the  Holy  Sacrifice  both  signify 
and  effect.  The  two  tides  of  need  and 
fulfilment  must  meet  in  a priest’s  heart. 
But  all  my  life  I have  known  much  of  ful- 
filment and  little  of  need.  Last  night  the 
first  was  almost  withdrawn,  and  the  second 
deepened  almost  beyond  bearing.  But  I 
knew,  as  I told  you  last  night,  that  with  the 
morning  would  come  peace — that  I should 


In  the  Morning  237 

be  able  to  carry  up  the  burden  laid  on  me, 
and  make  it  one  with  Him  on  Whom  the 
iniquities  of  us  all  are  laid.  But  I need 
not  say  more  of  that  now.  This  morning 
when  I went  to  the  altar  a lull  had  come  in 
the  storm.  But  it  was  all  in  my  heart 
still.  I felt  sure  that  I should  have  the 
clear  vision  once  more : and  as  I lifted  up 
the  Body  of  our  Lord,  it  came. 

“ As  I lifted  It  up  It  disappeared ; as 
those  tell  us  who  look  in  crystals.  And  this 
is  what  I saw.  I do  not  know  how  long  I saw 
it,  it  seemed  as  if  time  stood  still,  but  you  told 
me  there  was  no  perceptible  pause.  Well  ” 
— and  the  old  man  raised  himself  slightly 
in  the  bed — “ between  my  hands  I saw  a 
long  slope  running  as  it  seemed  from  me 
downhill.  On  the  nearer  higher  end  of  the 
slope  were  men  going  to  and  fro,  and  I 
knew  they  needed  something — and  yet 
many  of  them  did  not  seem  to  know  it 
themselves — but  they  were  all  in  need. 
One  there  was  who  walked  quickly,  clench- 
ing and  unclenching  his  hands,  and  I knew 


238  The  Light  Invisible 

he  fought  with  sin.  And  there  was  a 
woman  with  a dead  child  across  her  knees; 
and  there  was  a blind  child  crying  in  a 
corner. 

“ Then  further  down  the  slope  were 
wounded  creatures  of  all  kinds,  and  lonely 
beasts  seeking  a place  to  die,  and  the  very 
grass  of  the  field  seemed  to  be  in  sorrow, 
and  there  were  blind  sea-ereatures  gasping. 
They  were  not  small,  as  you  might  think, 
but  I saw  them  as  if  I looked  through  a 
hole  in  a wall. 

“ And  they  stretched  down,  rank  on 
rank,  heaving  and  striving,  men  and  beasts 
warring  and  trampling  down  the  flowers. 
There  was  a thrush  I saw,  too,  shivering 
in  a tree  ; and  the  thought  of  the  story  I 
have  told  you  came  to  my  mind,  and  there 
were  a thousand  things  that  I forget. 

“ Now  when  I saw  all  this  my  hands 
trembled,  but  what  I saw  did  not  tremble, 
so  I knew  that  it  was  real.  And  then  very 
far  away  and  faint  at  the  foot  of  the  slope 
was  a level  silvery  mist,  like  a sea-fog, 


In  the  Morning  239 

with  delicate  currents  and  lines,  now  swift 
and  piercing,  now  slow;  and  in  the  mist 
moved  faces;  but  I could  not  distinguish 
the  features.  And  these  were  the  souls 
that  waited  until  their  sins  should  be  done 
away. 

“ And  then  with  something  like  terror 
I remembered  that  I held  in  my  hands  the 
Body  of  the  Lord.  And  I was  puzzled 
and  distracted,  but  I knelt  to  adore,  and 
as  I lowered  the  Holy  Thing,  the  clouds 
closed  and  the  light  died  out.  And  it 
may  be  that  I was  cowardly — and  I think 
God  will  pardon  an  old  man  for  whom  the 
light  was  too  strong — but  when  I con- 
secrated the  chalice,  I dared  not  look  at  it. 
At  the  Communion,  too,  I closed  my  eyes 
again.”  The  old  man  paused  a moment 
and  then  continued.  “ I heard  no  sound 
such  as  you  describe.  As  I unvested  and 
went  to  my  room  I was  still  perplexed  at 
what  I had  seen,  and  could  not  understand 
it,  and  then  on  a sudden  I understood  it, 
and  it  was  then  I suppose  that  I fell  down.” 


240  The  Light  Invisible 

There  was  a silence  for  a moment : then 
I answered. 

“ I cannot  understand  even  now.” 

The  priest  smiled  at  me,  and  his  hand 
closed  again  on  mine. 

“ I think  there  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell 
you  that.  It  will  be  plain  to  you  soon. 
Remember  what  it  was  that  I saw,  and 
where  I saw  it,  and  all  will  be  easy. 

“ You  can  leave  me  now  for  a little,”  he 
went  on.  “ I am  perfectly  free  from  pain, 
and  I wish  to  think.  Would  you  send  Parker 
to  me  in  about  an  hour’s  time  ? ” And 
then,  as  I went  towards  the  door,  he  added  : 
“ One  word  more.  I had  forgotten 
something.  I have  yet  one  more  clear 
vision  to  see  before  I die.  I have  seen,  you 
remember,  what  you  too  have  seen,  how 
all  things  need  God  ; but  there  is  yet  one 
more  thing  to  see  which  will  make  all 
plain,  and  I think  you  can  guess  what 
that  is.  <r  And  I pray  that  you  will  be  with 
me  when  I see  it.” 

Then  I turned  and  went  quietly  out. 


The  Expected  Guest 


“ Jhesu  ! Jhesu  ! Esto  michi,  Jhcsu  ! ” 

Old  Prayer 


The  Expected  Guest 


s day  after  day  went  by  and  the  old 


man  seemed  no  worse,  I began  to 
have  hopes  that  he  might  recover,  but  the 
doctor  discouraged  me. 

“At  the  best,”  he  said,  “he  may  just 
linger  on.  But  I do  not  think  the  end  is 
far  off.  You  must  remember  he  is  an  old 
man.”  And  so  at  last  the  end  came. 

During  these  days,  since  Parker  was  of 
course  too  much  occupied  with  his  master, 
a boy  waited  on  me.  On.  the  last  evening, 
as  the  boy  came  in  for  the  second  time  at 
dinner,  he  looked  white  and  frightened. 


244  The  Light  Invisible 

“ What  is  it  ? ” I asked. 

“ We  don’t  like  it,  sir,  in  the  servants’ 
hall.  Two  children  ran  in  just  now  and 
said  they  had  seen  something,  and  we  are 
all  upset,  sir.  The  maids  are  crying.” 

“ What  was  it  the  children  thought  they 
saw  ? ” I asked.  The  boy  hesitated. 

“ Tell  me,”  I repeated. 

The  boy  put  down  the  dish  he  held  and 
came  closer  to  me. 

“ They  say  they  saw  the  master  himself, 
sir,  on  the  front  lawn,  at  the  gate.” 

“ Where  were  the  children  ?”  I asked. 

“ Passing  round  from  the  house,  sir,  in 
front,  under  the  chestnut.  They  had  been 
sent  by  the  Rector  to  inquire.” 

I got  up  from  the  table. 

“ Where  are  they  ?”  I asked. 

In  the  servants’  hall,  sir.” 

“ Bring  them  into  the  sitting-room.”  And 
I followed  him  out  and  waited.  Presently 
the  swing-door  opened  and  the  children 
looked  in.  Behind  them  were  the  pale  faces 
of  the  servants,  whispering  and  staring. 


The  Expected  Guest  245 

“ Come  in,”  I said  to  the  children,  “ and 
sit  down.  Don’t  be  afraid.” 

They  came  timidly  in,  evidently  very 
much  frightened.  The  door  closed  behind 
them. 

This  was  their  story. 

They  had  been  to  the  house  to  inquire 
how  the  old  man  was,  and  were  returning 
to  the  Rectory.  But  they  had  hardly 
started,  in  fact  had  only  just  reached  the 
chestnut-tree  in  front  of  the  house,  when 
both  of  them,  who  were  looking  towards 
the  lighted  windows,  had  seen  quite  plainly 
the  figure  of  the  old  priest  standing  just 
inside  the  gate.  He  was  bareheaded,  they 
said,  dressed  in  black,  but  they  could  only 
see  his  head  and  shoulders  over  the  bank, 
as  the  road  is  a little  lower  than  the  grass 
which  borders  on  it  and  runs  up  to  the 
gate.  He  seemed,  they  said,  to  be  looking 
out  for  some  one.  When  I asked  them  how 
they  could  possibly  see  any  one  at  that 
distance  on  such  a dark  night,  they  had  no 
sort  of  explanation ; they  could  only  repeat 


246  The  Light  Invisible 

that  they  did  see  him  quite  plainly  At 
last  I took  them  out  myself,  and  made 
them  point  out  to  me  the  place  where  they 
had  seen  it;  but,  as  I expected,  all  was 
dark,  and  we  could  not  even  make  out  the 
white  balls  on  the  pedestals.  I took  them 
on  to  the  end  of  the  drive,  as  they  still 
seemed  upset ; and  they  told  me  there  that 
they  would  not  be  frightened  to  go  the 
rest  of  the  way  alone.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, as  we  waited  a man  passed  in  the 
direction  of  the  village,  and  he  consented 
to  see  them  as  far  as  the  Rectory  gate. 

When  I entered  the  house  again  the 
maids  with  the  boy  were  standing  in  the 
hall.  They  looked  eagerly  towards  the 
door  as  I opened  it,  and  one  of  them  cried 
out. 

“ What  is  it  now  ? ” I asked.  One  of 
the  elder  servants  answered  : 

“ Oh  sir,  the  master’s  worse.  Parker’s 
afraid  he’s  going.  He’s  just  run  down- 
stairs for  you,  sir ; and  now  he’s  gone 
back.” 


The  Expected  Guest  247 

I did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more,  but 
pushed  past  them,  through  the  sitting- 
room,  and  ran  upstairs. 

The  door  of  the  old  man’s  room  was 
open,  and  I heard  faint  sounds  from  within. 
I went  straight  in  without  knocking,  and 
turned  the  corner  of  the  screen. 

Parker,  who  was  kneeling  by  the  bed, 
supporting  his  master  in  his  arms,  turned 
his  head  as  I came  in  sight,  and  made  a 
gesture  with  it.  I came  close  up. 

“ He’s  going  fast,  sir,  I’m  afraid,”  he 
whispered. 

The  old  man  was  sitting  up  in  bed 
looking  quite  straight  before  him.  His 
lips  were  slightly  parted ; and  his  eyes  were 
full  of  expectancy.  He  kept  lifting  his 
hands  gently,  half  opening  them  with  a 
welcoming  movement,  and  then  letting 
them  fall.  Now  he  leaned  gently  for- 
ward, as  if  to  meet  something  with  his 
hands  extended,  then  sinking  a little  back 
upon  Parker’s  arm.  He  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  me,  and  it  seemed  as  if  his 


248  The  Light  Invisible 

eyes  were  focused  to  an  almost  infinite 
distance. 

I too  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  waited 
watching  him.  Then  there  came  soft  foot- 
steps at  the  door,  but  it  was  not  for  that 
he  waited.  Then  a whispering  and  a sob- 
bing : and  I knew  that  the  servants  were 
gathering  outside. 

Still  he  waited  for  that  which  he  knew 
would  come  before  he  died.  And  the  ex- 
pectancy deepened  in  his  eyes  to  an  almost 
terrible  intensity ; and  it  was  the  expectancy 
that  feared  no  disappointment.  It  was 
perfectly  still  outside,  the  servants  were 
quiet  now,  and  the  old  man’s  breathing  was 
inaudible.  Once  I heard  the  far-off  bark 
of  a dog  away  somewhere  in  the  village. 

As  I watched  his  face  I saw  how  wrinkles 
covered  it,  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  his 
forehead  were  deeply  furrowed,  and  the 
lines  deepened  and  shifted  as  his  face 
worked.  And  then  suddenly  he  cried  out : 
“ He  is  coming,  my  son,  He  is  coming  far 
away.”  And  then  silence. 


The  Expected  Guest  249 

I heard  a sudden  movement  outside  and 
then  stillness  again.  Then  a maid  broke 
out  into  sobbing  : and  I heard  footsteps, 
and  then  the  door  of  my  room  across  the 
landing  open  and  shut : and  the  sobbing 
ceased.  But  the  old  man  paid  no  heed. 
Then  suddenly  he  cried  out  again: 

“ Behold  He  stands  at  the  door  and 
knocks.” 

He  made  an  indescribable  gesture  with 
his  hands.  Then  I was  startled,  for  there 
came  a loud  pealing  at  the  bell  down- 
stairs. 

Parker  whispered  to  me  to  send  one  of 
the  servants  downstairs : and  I went  to  the 
door  for  an  instant  and  told  the  boy  to  go : 
then  I came  back.  The  boy’s  footsteps 
died  away  down  the  staircase.  I knelt 
down  again  by  the  bed. 

Then  once  more  the  old  man  cried  out  : 

“ He  is  coming,  my  son.  He  is  here 
and  then,  “ Look  1 ” 

As  he  said  this  across  his  face  there 
came  an  extraordinary  smile;  for  one 


250  The  Light  Invisible 

moment,  as  I started  up  and  looked,  his 
face  was  that  of  a child,  the  wrinkles 
seemed  suddenly  erased,  and  a great  rosy 
flush  swept  from  forehead  to  mouth,  and 
his  eyes  shone  like  stars.  I noticed  too, 
even  at  this  moment,  for  I was  almost 
facing  him  as  I sprang  up,  that  the  focus 
of  his  eyes  was  contracted  to  a point  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed  where  the  screen  stood. 

Then  he  fell  back ; and  Parker  laid  him 
gently  down. 

A moment  after  footsteps  came  up  the 
stairs:  and  the  boy  whispered  from  the 
doorway  that  the  Rector  had  come. 


THE  END 


Date  Due 


3 9031 


BOSTON  COLLEGE 


01342 


89  6 83933 


Goo  3.  I i| 

BOSTON  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

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t , CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 

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